


A Dangerous Game

by sunsetbIvd



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asphyxiation, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempt at Humor, Blood and Violence, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Knifeplay, Obsession, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Sadism, Spit Kink, Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships, Yandere, dark themes light banter, episodic, psychopath Madara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-01-16 03:03:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21264023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetbIvd/pseuds/sunsetbIvd
Summary: The center of Madara's attention was a very dangerous place to be.





	1. A Dangerous Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic depictions of violence, explicit sexual content, dubious consent, light sadism
> 
> This is a bit dark so please make sure to read the tags!

I. A DANGEROUS GAME

♫【 [s i c k t h o u g h t s](https://youtu.be/m2DLQp66ukw) 】♫

— X —

Sakura watched the target’s vehicle approach the hotel entrance from her rooftop position down the street. The night’s calm breeze picked up, as though the gods themselves anticipated the bloodshed to come. She recalculated the adjustments needed, this time taking into account the direction of the wind. 

The sleek black limo rolled to a stop.

Recognition filled her eyes as a man with greying hair stepped out. Igor Kuznetsov, a businessman who made his millions trafficking women from Russia to the United States; prostitution for society's upper echelon—lawyers, politicians, CEOs. Corruption was rampant no matter where she was. But who was she to judge? She killed for a living.

The target walked towards the revolving glass doors with two women trailing behind. Silently counting down, she rested her cheek on the familiar cold steel of the Barrette M82. Her finger instinctively tensed as it met the trigger. The crosshair marked the back of his head. She held her breath.

The feeling before a kill, it was all too familiar.

_BANG._

The recoil pushed against her shoulder as the .50 caliber bullet discharged through the suppressor. A few seconds passed, but it felt like an eternity. All hell broke loose. The target hit the ground, the content inside of his head first, then his body. Screams of terror filled the air.

Sakura closed her eyes, her heart beating against her ribcage like the wings of a caged hummingbird.

— X —

It was well past 2 AM when Sakura made it back to her apartment, a nondescript high-rise in the heart of the city.

Her phone pinged. She glanced down at the screen.

_Transfer complete: $200,000.00._

Murder-for-hire was a lucrative business.

She turned the lock on her door and stepped inside—then froze. Something was amiss. The pale moonlight filtered through the open blinds of her windows, lighting the corridor that lead to balcony. The balcony that should’ve been closed and locked. She always kept the balcony doors locked. Always, despite living on the ninth floor and thoroughly examining the threat profiles of every single resident in the building, as well as their relatives, close friends and associates. Normal people might call it paranoia, but she called it maximizing her survivability. There was no such thing as excessive caution in her line of work. Yet, someone managed to find her.

Another occupational hazard: a lot of people wanted her dead.

Silently easing her Mark 23 out of its harnesses, she shouldered the right wall and moved forward on high alert, gun close to her chest. She left the entryway, footsteps light, and swept through the living room first. It seemed like nobody had entered. Until the barest noise of shuffling clothes behind her alerted her otherwise. She swung around but before she could make a full turn, she felt the cold steel muzzle of a gun pointed at her temple. 

“Too slow, Sakura,” a deep, husky voice patronized. 

“Madara,” she gritted out.

“Drop the gun. I’d hate to put a bullet through your pretty little head.”

There were many things that didn’t exist in Madara’s world: fear, morality, warm and fuzzy feelings—to name a few, but especially empty threats. His threats were more like promises. She reluctantly released her gun. It hit the carpet with a dull thud.

“Good girl,” he murmured, kicking it away. “I see you’re still taking contracts from Tsunade.”

The disparaging praise made her sneer. “I see you’re still stalking me,” she retorted, watching him from the corner of her eye. He wore his usual leather gloves and a fitted black suit that probably cost more than her monthly rent. Madara was beautiful in a dangerous way. His long, wild hair was tied back into a ponytail. His crimson eyes smoldered with a lethal intensity. Huge in both muscle and height, he radiated an aura of tightly coiled danger. The look of refined sophistication brimming at the seams to discard the civilized veneer; the look of a vicious monster not just learning the rules of civil of society, but taking over and creating his own empire.

“Stalking? I thought we were playing hide and seek.”

“Well you must be losing your touch, considering it took you nearly a year to find me this time.”

“Did it really though?” A slow smiled crossed his face.

She bristled. “How long have you been watching me?”

“I gave you a choice, _liebling_,” the German endearment rolled off his tongue in mockery. It was a reminder of their first meeting five years ago. At twenty, Sakura was wet behind the ears and full of anger. Sent to Munich for a contract that was worth more to her than any monetary value, she crossed paths with him, the infamous Madara Uchiha. The leader of the most powerful assassination ring in the world. If there was anyone to absolutely never cross, it was Madara. She heard plenty of stories; cautionary tales. The man was an absolute psychopath who didn’t understand the concept of mercy. In the underworld of crime, they called him the Reaper.

But she didn’t care at the time. She was too impulsive, too senseless. Too reckless and naive. When she found him standing over the dead body of her target, she lost all rationality. All those years she endured being tortured and experimented on. All those years that she prayed for death. It was _her_ retribution to pay. It was her fucking right to kill Kabuto.

And he took that right from her, so she shot the bastard.

She might’ve been the only person alive that ever witnessed a flicker of surprise on his face. She didn’t even know it was within his spectrum of emotions. But what was truly unsettling was the predatory smile that stretched across his face. It made her blood run cold. She had been running ever since. So maybe she was stupid, but she was still alive despite pissing off the most dangerous man in the world. That had to count for something. She had a feeling it was because he enjoyed hunting her down far too much. He always allowed her to escape instead of delivering the killing blow—not out of mercy, but because it was a game to him. Everything was a game.

But that could change at any moment.

“Death isn’t that great of an option.”

“Death wasn’t the only option.”

“It might as well have been.”

“You’d rather die than work for me? That pains me to hear.” Madara shot her a sardonic smile.

“Work for you.” An abrupt laugh left Sakura's lips. “What happened to the last outsider who worked for you?” When he raised a brow, she reminded him. “A bullet between the eyes when he was no longer useful.”

His lips twitched. “Keeping tabs on me?”

“So I can plot your death.”

“Now you’re speaking my love language. What makes you think you’ll survive?”

“Whatever happens, I’ll drag you to hell with me.”

“I don’t usually accept dates on such short notice but I’ll make an exception for you.” 

“Actually, you’re right, I would rather die.” Her hand shot up and knocked the gun out of his hold with adept precision. She flipped forward and kicked the falling gun in mid air, sending it flying to the other end of the living room.

Before she could make another move, Madara grabbed her by the throat and hooked his foot on the back of her ankle. Gravity did the rest of the work, slamming her into the ground. He straddled her body. “Ah,_ liebling_, well then death is here to answer your call.” His fingers constricted around her throat until her eyes watered and her vision blurred.

“Fuck...you,” Sakura choked out, bucking her hips in an attempt to unbalance his massive frame.

“I have half the mind to,” he purred, “Your tears make me hard.” His unoccupied hand pried her death grip from his forearm and forced it to his groin. She jerked her arm back as her fingers brushed against his half-erect member. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Do you want me to fuck you in the ass or the cunt?” He shifted back to watch her face contort in disgust. “No? Or did you want both holes fucked? Greedy girl.”

She spat in his face.

His expression closed up. There was something terrifying about the abrupt change. His menacing red eyes looked empty. Dead. Like he was completely devoid of emotions. _This_ was the Reaper. Fear slithered up her spine for the first time that night.

His hand moved from her throat to her jaw and squeezed hard enough to force her mouth open. With two fingers, he wiped her spit off his cheek and studied it. Silence stretched between them. Without warning, he shoved the fingers into her mouth. She gagged on the digits, struggling against him, but he was too heavy, too strong. She tried to bite down but his bruising grip prohibited any movement.

Involuntary tears streamed down her temples.

Madara’s eyes softened the slightest. “You’re so pretty when you cry,” he said, removing his fingers from her mouth.

Sakura heaved in lungfuls of air and tried to blink away the tears, but before she could fully catch her breath, he tangled his hand in her hair and roughly jerked her head back, forcing her mouth further open. His hold on her jaw was so tight that she wondered if he intended to shatter her bone.

His smile returned, but there was something very wrong about it. It was hungry; predatory. In the wild, baring teeth was a sign of aggression, and he looked like he was ready to eat her alive. She kicked her legs, trying to dislodge him with a renewed vigor. She just needed to reach her boots.

“I didn’t think you were the type to be into spit play, but I can adapt,” he said, holding her gaze. He leaned down, face hovering a few inches above hers, and spit in her open mouth.

Her eyes widened as she felt his saliva land on her tongue. He forced her jaw closed and pinched her nose shut, leaving her no choice but to swallow. The act was so filthy, so depraved, but what shocked her most was the kindling of desire in her gut. She laid motionless staring at the ceiling, feeling disgusted by the growing heat between her legs.

He released her and shifted back, eyes half-lidded. “Is that what you like, _liebling_? My spit in your mouth?”

Her hands fisted on the carpet. “Yes,” Sakura murmured, nearly inaudible.

“What was that? I don’t think I heard you.” 

She met his eyes and slowly placed her hands on his chest. He stared back, unblinking. “I said…fuck you.” She dug her fingers into the lapels of his suit jacket and used all her strength to twist her body. The momentum carried him over. Rolling away, she slid a compact three-inch knife from her boots and threw it at him. It sunk into his left arm, right above his elbow.

Madara glanced down at the blade and looked back at her with a vicious grin. “I love it when you flirt.” He pulled the knife out without the slightest grimace and returned it to her at twice the speed.

She sidestepped but it still managed to nick her face before embedding in the wall behind her. She wiped at the blood with the back of her hand.

He raised his gloved-hands and gestured at her to come. "Let's play."

She scanned the ground and spotted his gun, the one that she kicked away earlier. It was only a couple feet from her.

Recognizing her intent, he pulled out a concealed pistol and fired two shots. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. She ducked and rolled, grabbing the gun. Once upright, she returned fire, but he was already on the move. She took the opportunity to dive behind the sofa for cover. Bullets riddled it a second later.

“Asshole,” Sakura muttered under her breath. “Coming here and ruining my furniture.” Her finger tensed on the trigger as she peered over the sofa.

He was nowhere in sight.

She tentatively stood and made her way around the ruined sofa towards the corridor, stopping along the way to pick up her Mk23. She slid his pistol into her holster, preferring the familiar weight and grip of her own gun. Peeking into the hall, she found it empty. She extended her arms and continued cautiously down the hallway, gun first.

Kitchen: empty. 

Bathroom: empty.

The door of her study was ajar. She nudged it open with her foot and aimed down the sight of the pistol. Curtains wide-open, the small room was illuminated by moonlight. Standing at her desk was Madara with a picture frame in his hand. It was the only photo she owned. “Put it down.”

“Parents?” He was oddly quiet.

“They’re dead,” she said before he could think of using them against her.

He placed the frame on her desk, face down, and turned to her. “I hope they’re not watching over you right now.”

Lines appeared between her brows.

“I’d hate for them to witness their daughter becoming my cum slut.” 

Raged filled her. She pulled the trigger.

Instead of dodging, Madara charged forward, unflinching when the bullet hit his shoulder. He was fast for his size. Reaching her, he twisted the gun out of her hand and kicked her knee, but she didn’t go down. She punched him in the diaphragm. It was a solid hit. He grunted and staggered back. She reached for the second gun but a searing pain exploded on the side of her head.

He pistol-whipped her with her own gun. This time, she went down.

He tossed the gun away and straddled her. Pulling out a knife, he sliced her shoulder harness, shirt and bra, then ripped them off her. She made a feeble attempt to push at his hands, still dazed by the impact. Her head pounded. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took deep breaths and tried to stabilize herself. 

Madara moved down. He pulled off her combat boots and peeled off her pants. She was left in socks and underwear. He leaned back and scanned her from head to toe, taking in the myriad of scars that marred her body. “Beautiful.”

The comment caught her off guard, but she took advantage of his position and kicked him soundly in the chest. She scrambled onto her knees and crawled to the door, but he yanked her back by the hair. His bare hand wrapped around her nape and pushed her head down to the ground. He must have removed his gloves. She could feel the blood on his hand.

“Where are you going, _liebling_? We’re just getting started.”

“Get off me bastard,” Sakura snarled.

“You want this.” Madara ran his hand down her back, smearing his blood on her. “You crave it.”

Goosebumps erupted on her skin. “You disgust me.”

“Your body betrays you.” He pulled down her underwear and cupped her sex from behind. “Look at how wet you are for me.”

A whimper escaped her throat.

She hated it. Hated that his game of the hunter and the prey aroused her. Hated that she wanted him. Hated that he could see right through her.

He pinched her swollen clit and she had to bite down on her lip to keep from crying out.

“Are you going to be a good girl?” He slid two fingers down her slit, resting over her entrance. 

She didn’t respond.

“No kisses for you here then.” He spread her puffy labia with his thumbs to expose her clenching hole, then leaned down and spit on it.

Her fingers dug into the carpet. She heard the unbuckling of his belt and the zipper of his pants. Without warning, he pushed inside her. A gasp escaped her as she felt his thick, throbbing member forcing her walls to stretch around him. As wet as she was, he was too big. The burning stretch made her wince, but it was laced with pleasure. She didn’t mind the twinge of pain, liked it, even. His rough hands found her hips, slamming her back onto his cock with every thrust and bottoming out each time. Desperate moans fell from her lips. She was hyperaware of every long drag, every ridge and vein on his pulsing shaft.

Uchiha Madara was fully dressed in tailored suit, fucking her barely-clad form on the ground. It was primal, entirely lust and unrestrained hunger.

“Do you know how long I’ve fantasized about your tight little cunt?” He pulled her up by the throat; back arched, and forced her head all the way back so that his face was over hers. He held her gaze for a long moment, not stopping his brutal thrusts for a single second. Leaning down, he pressed his lips against hers.

_Buzz. _

_Buzz. _

_Buzz._

Sakura’s eyes shot open.

Madara continued to piston in and out of her, ignoring the sound.

_Buzz._

_Buzz._

Lucidity returned to her in a tidal wave. She jerked her arm back and elbowed him in the side.

He stopped mid-thrust. “I thought we were playing nice.” He pinned her upper body down, her face and chest pressed against the carpet. “One moment.” He pulled his phone from his pocket to check the screen. With a press of a button, the vibrations stopped. He continued to pound into her.

Her jaw dropped in disbelief.

_Buzz. _

_Buzz. _

Irritation flickered in his eyes. He pulled out the phone again and swiped right, bringing the device to his ear. “I’m busy,” he barked. “Izuna?” He glanced at his watch and sighed. “I’ll be there shortly. Leave no witnesses alive.” He hung up and pulled out of her with a wet _plop_. “Sakura...” His tone held a note of regret.

She swung around. He caught her fist and grabbed her chin, kissing her roughly. She bit him in return, hard enough to draw blood, and dug her fingers into the bullet wound on his shoulder.

He pulled back and laughed with something akin to fondness in his eyes. Her anger dulled the slightest bit.

“Until next time.” He kissed her forehead.

“I hope you die before then,” she lied.

— X —

“What the hell happened here?” Ino walked in to find Sakura nursing a drink on the kitchen island.

“He found me,” she muttered, sulking. Her phone pinged beside her. It was an unknown number. She opened the text and images of her naked form in the shower filled the screen, accompanied by a winking face at the bottom. “Son of a bitch.” She hopped off the counter and rushed to the bathroom.

“What happened?” Ino shouted, following closely behind.

Sakura quickly typed a reply.

_Next time, I’m going to shoot you in the head._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ peak self-indulgent one-shot energy
> 
> _liebling_ \- darling/my favorite  
Madara is fluent in many languages (international crime syndicate and all), but he likes to slip into German around Sakura to remind her of their first encounter.


	2. Come On Baby, Don't Fear the Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madara stepped over the lifeless bodies and approached her, his long black overcoat billowing behind him. Stopping a foot before her, he raised a leather gloved-hand. “Come on baby, don’t fear the Reaper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of you expressed interest in reading more of this AU so I decided to write a second part.
> 
> Warning: Graphic depictions of violence, explicit sexual content, dubious consent, light sadism
> 
> 2/3/2020: Finally edited! Sorry if you read this earlier and had to go through all the errors. I stayed up until 4am to make the MadaSaku Weekend deadline so my brain was fried T ^ T

II. COME ON BABY, DON'T FEAR THE REAPER

♫【 [b r o k e n](https://youtu.be/R5p2v28VMtg) 】♫

— X —

Sakura slowly stirred awake to muted voices and laughter. Her head was foggy. Everything sounded submerged under water. In her half-conscious state, she knew she was in danger but couldn’t remember how she ended up tied up to a chair, or why her mouth tasted like copper. All she could make sense of was that everything _hurt_.

The muffled sounds gradually rose in volume as she pulled herself out of the haze. She kept her eyes closed and her breathing steady to feign unconsciousness. Her captors seemed to be none the wiser, as their conversation continued. She concentrated on the voices, making out four distinctions: one female and the rest male. There was a vague familiarity in one of their voices. She couldn’t remember from where, but a dull alarm went off in the back of her head.

“She’s awake.”

The idle chatter stopped.

Sakura opened her eyes, wondering what gave her away. The sudden exposure to light made her squint. As her eyes adjusted, a face came into view, one that she hadn’t seen in years. Her pulse spiked as recognition hit her. Memories of her captivity resurfaced, getting dragged from her cell to be tortured and experimented on, day after day, week after week. Her attention shifted to the twin who stood behind him. Kabuto may have been the blade that cut her open, but Sakon and Ukon were her chain and shackle.

A violent wave of rage tore through her.

“I guess she remember us,” Sakon remarked with a smirk, walking around her. She followed him with her eyes until he left her peripheral.

“How nice of you to come to me,” she said slowly, her fury barely contained. “I’ve been searching for all of you.”

“You found Kabuto.” His mild voice came from behind her.

“It’s a shame that I couldn’t kill Kabuto myself, but there’s still plenty of trash to take out.”

Ukon cocked his head to the side. “Can we just kill her?”

“That decision is hers to make,” Sakon said, coming to a full circle and stopping in front of her. “Although I can already tell she won’t be cooperative.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Sakura snapped, straining against the ropes that bounded her wrists. Her hands were nearly numb from the lack of circulation. She needed to formulate a plan, fast.

They seemed to be in a warehouse. Wooden pallets were stacked around them at least ten feet high. Not great for cover, but it was better than nothing. There were three others she didn’t recognize who wore the pure white yin-yang symbol on their chests—Orochimaru’s personal guards. The odds were against her, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Or the last.

“You’ve made quite the name for yourself. Orochimaru is impressed.”

Her attention whipped back to the identical twins.

“He’s giving you the opportunity to join us.”

Her eye twitched. She stared at them in incredulity and they stared back with their beady black eyes, waiting for a response like a pair of vipers waiting to attack. Laughter bubbled from her throat, breaking the silence. “Join you?” her voice was deceptively calm. “After everything I endured, you want me to join you?”

“Not us,” Ukon corrected. “Orochimaru.”

Sakon nodded. “We could care less if you were dead or alive. Your answer will determine the outcome.”

Sakura eased back into the seat. “In that case, I have a personal message for him.”

They regarded her with narrowed eyes, wary, but she was tied up and stripped of her weapons. Not to mention outnumbered. What could she do?

“It’s not for their ears,” she lowered her voice, regarding the other three lackeys standing a couple feet away. There was one woman with blush-red hair who looked bored and two men, one watched her with glee and the other’s attention was elsewhere. “It’s about Kabuto.” 

The twins glanced at each other, some sort of wordless communication transpired before they turned back to her. Deciding that she wasn’t a threat, Sakon crouched down and brought his ear to her lips. "This better be good."

“Oh trust me, it's good.” As his glowering face turned to her, she slammed her head into his nose and heard a sickening crunch.

“Fuck!” he bellowed, scrambling back and holding his nose in pain. Blood seeped through his fingers and down into his mouth, staining his teeth. He pointed at her. “I’m going to cut you to pieces.”

Ukon tossed him a switchblade. “Make it quick.”

She eyed the knife. It was exactly what she needed.

Sakon flipped it open and approached her. “Let’s see how you like this,” he spat.

“Gut her!”

“Wipe the grin off of that bitch!”

He sneered and flipped open the blade; a standard three inches of steel, sharpened to razor's edge. Her heart accelerated. She tugged harder at the rope around his wrists.

A sudden cheerful whistling echoed through the warehouse. It was accompanied by the sound of something heavy sliding on the ground. Sakon’s hand froze in midair. As the footsteps grew louder, the whistling slowed and the pitch deepened, transforming into an eerie tune.

Goosebumps erupted on Sakura's skin. She glanced around the warehouse as a sense of foreboding made her fine hairs stand on end. Something worse was coming, she could feel it in her bones. She needed to get out of the restraints immediately.

The twins exchanged mirrored, questioning glances; their brows deeply furrowed. Seeing an opening, she used all the strength to launch her body, chair included, into Sakon’s abdomen. He grunted. They both hit the ground hard, but he was winded, and she wasn’t. Eyes on the switchblade, she watched as it fell in slow motion and flipped the chair to the side so that the blade cut through the rope that restrained her right hand. She freed herself and held the knife to Sakon’s jugular. It happened in a matter of seconds.

Ukon nodded at the redhead woman who already had a gun in her hand and pulled out his own, pointing it at Sakura. The woman shifted the gun to her left hand and brought her phone to her ear. “Where are you?” 

“Right here.”

The deep, cultured voice startled Sakura. She hadn’t heard it in four months and thirteen days. Yes, she was counting.

Madara dropped the body he was dragging along. “This gentleman wouldn’t let me in so I had to let myself in,” he explained, tone placid, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sakura groaned. She turned the chair upright and picked up the rope, sat down and began tying her wrist down. “I'm sorry for fussing earlier. Take me with you guys, please.”

Nobody moved. She suspected it was a combination of shock and fear that kept them frozen in place. Perhaps more of the latter. It wasn’t every day that the leader of the oldest and most powerful international crime syndicate crashed your kidnapping party.

“I promise I won’t try to escape again until we’re far away from this psychotic asshole,” Sakura pleaded.

Sakon turned to her. His eyes were frantic. He reached for her.

_BANG._

Sakura recoiled as a warm liquid splattered on her face. The man before her dropped to the floor, blood pooling from the hole in his head. She snapped her head to Madara. His gun was still raised and she wasn’t exactly sure if it was pointed at her or at the spot where Sakon once occupied.

He stared at her with an unreadable expression. “You’re not allowed to get kidnapped by anyone but me.” Without breaking eye contact, his arm shifted to the left and another shot rang out. Panic ensued, yelling and scrambling boots and gunfire.

Sakura used the chaos in her favor and bent down to the still-warm body at her feet. She pulled the Glock 22 from its harness and dove for the nearest pallet, using it as cover. She checked the magazine. 10 bullets. It was more than enough. Flipping the safety, she slid her finger over the trigger and wiped the blood from her face.

Something clutched her ankle.

It was Ukon. Blood gurgled from his mouth.

She kicked off his grasp and watched dispassionately as his hand extended towards her. “Tell Kabuto I said hi.” Aiming down her sight, she pulled the trigger. The discharge reverberated through the warehouse.

Silence followed.

Sakura felt no satisfaction in watching the light fade from his eyes. Sakon and Ukon were dead. She mentally crossed the twins’ names off her list, right under Kabuto. Releasing a heavy breath, she peeked out from behind her cover.

A lone shadow stood above the lifeless bodies. His untouched form starkly juxtaposed the akimbo limbs, wide eyes and gaping mouths on the ground. He eliminated them with a ruthless efficiency. The concrete floor was painted crimson beneath his wingtip loafers, the air thick with the scent of freshly spilled blood. When she met his eyes, she saw the harbinger of death, and his predatory gaze was already focused on her.

Shivers ran down her spine.

Madara stepped over the dead bodies and approached her, his long black overcoat billowing behind him. He stopped right in front of her and raised a leather gloved-hand. “Come on baby, don’t fear the Reaper.” His devilish voice was smoother than finely aged single malt whiskey.

She pulled the trigger in response. He didn’t flinch as the bullet flew past his face by a mere inch. It was a warning shot.

“Why are you here?” the words left her lips on a whisper. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off; she could feel every ache in her muscles, every bruise and every welt on her body. Exhaustion made her bones heavy but she kept the gun steadily trained on him. 

A slow smile stretched across his face. “To collect what’s mine.”

She wondered how he always managed to make the cordial act look downright menacing. “Fuck off.”

“More will come for you. Your apartment has been compromised. Your safe house on 28th and Armitage as well.”

“How do—” she cut herself short. Of course he knew. He had been keeping tabs on her for the past five years; their interactions were limited to him hunting her down for his own sick obsession, only to release her after getting her submission. It was a game to him. After their last encounter, she had been a nomad, not settling anywhere for longer than a month.

“Tsunade is still in Shanghai and you don’t want to drag your friends into this.” He read her like a book. “You have nowhere else to go.”

“I’ll come up with something. I always do.” She stared into the distance, lowering her gun. “I’ll disappear.”

His eyes darkened. “I will always know where you are, _liebling_. No matter how far you run, I will always find you.”

She should’ve felt threatened, but somehow found comfort in his words instead.

His gaze roved over her face. She wondered what he saw that made his expression softened around the edges, just ever so slightly. “Sakura,” his voice was low. She hated how she liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. “Let me be your safe harbor. Just for tonight.”

She weighed his words carefully. She knew she shouldn’t trust Madara Uchiha, but there were brief moments embedded in her memory that hinted to a different side of him; it was in the way he always looked at her when he subdued her, before letting her go; with a vague sense of tenderness and maybe even a twisted affection. She regarded him for several heartbeats, then, took his waiting hand.

— X —

“White,” Sakura observed with a hint of disdain, eyeing the Ferrari. “This is…unexpected. Flashy, calls for attention, don’t you think?” She ran her fingers along the edge of the sleek hood as she rounded to the passenger side.

“Off-white, actually. Death rides a pale horse.” Madara's grin was feral.

“No one can escape death,” she warned. “Not even you.”

“Is that concern in your voice? Careful now, I’m starting to think you care about me.”

“Actually, I was planning on harvesting your organs and selling them on the black market when you die.” She flashed a tired smile before ducking into the seat.

Madara slid into the driver’s seat and leaned over to her. Wrapping his hand around the back of her head, he pulled her face to his and crushed their lips together for a brief moment before releasing her. “I've missed you,” he purred.

Sakura toyed with the idea of punching him in the mouth but instead filed it under the ‘things to do to the Uchiha bastard later’ folder in her brain. "The feeling's not mutual."

The smooth rumble of the V8 engine came to life as he started the car.

“By the way, Death’s horse is ashen. It’s Conquest that rides the white horse,” she said, watching the passing city streets through her window.

“Even better, don’t you think?”

“Conqueror,” she tested the word. It was fitting for Madara. But in the underworld of crime, he earned his title of the Reaper for a reason.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “We can make a pit stop and pick up some anmitsu.”

The dessert was her favorite comfort food. The fact that he knew made her wonder just how often he watched her daily life without her knowledge. She wondered what else he knew.

“Don’t you have better things to do than stalk me? And this isn’t flirting, by the way. I know you have a tendency of misinterpreting my insults and threats as flirtatious behavior.” She hummed. “How about I start referring to you as my number one fan instead? I think that has a better ring to it.”

“Call me whatever you’d like, as long as you call my name while I’m inside you.”

She flushed.

— X —

“Nice accommodation,” Sakura muttered, following the bane of her existence through his luxury penthouse. It was wide and airy with more floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows than walls. High ceilings—double height living room—and two floors from what she could tell. Everything looked expensive, sleek and modern, from the dark furnishings to the minimalist style. But the best part was the view. On the 66th floor, the twinkling skyline of the city was nothing short of breathtaking. But, being in his home felt disconcerting. She was so used to fighting him that she wasn’t sure how to interact with him outside of the language of guns and knives and fists. It was the devil's den.

“Would you like me to evict the apartment below and rent it out to you? We could be neighbors,” Madara said conversationally while leading her up the stairs.

She should’ve known he owned the building. “As much as I like the view, I’d rather die a slow, painful death than live anywhere near you.” She tried to imagine him as a typical neighbor, knocking on her door and asking to borrow all-purpose flour. Unlikely. A gun was more plausible. And if their history taught her anything, it was that he wouldn’t be knocking to begin with.

“You can have both,” he drawled. “Slow painful deaths are my specialty.”

“You know, I’m in the perfect position to shoot you before you can react.”

“But you won’t.” he said without turning.

She didn’t deny it. “I’m tired and I need a shower. I’ll shoot you tomorrow.”

“Who says I’ll give you the chance to tomorrow?”

Madara led her to a spacious bathroom that was as big as her current bedroom. She took in the black marble and gold accents with just a hint of envy. A separate bathtub and shower divided by glass lined the right wall. The tub looked large enough to fit five people. He opened a closet and pulled out two plush white towels. Handing one to her, he closed the door and placed the other on the counter.

“Thanks, I don’t need the extra.” She hung hers over the towel rack on the shower door.

“Extra?” Madara unbuttoned his shirt.

“W-what the hell are you doing?” Sakura stammered, taking a step back.

His brows furrowed. “Did they hit you on the head too hard?” His rough fingers brushed over her temple, a disturbing look of concern on his face.

She slapped his hand away. “I said _I_ need a shower.”

He nodded. “I’ll wash you hair.”

“That wasn’t an invitation,” she growled.

His lips twitched. “I wasn’t making a request.”

“If you don’t leave, I’m going to wrap my hands around your neck and squeeze until the blood vessels in your eyes burst,” she threatened gravely, intending to make good on her words.

He took a step towards her, and then another and another until only her contempt separated them. He towered over her so she had to crane her neck all the way back to meet his eyes.

“I’ve never been on the receiving end of breath-play but I’m willing to indulge you if I get to return the favor. You’re going to need to grow a couple inches before that endeavor, however.”

Her jaw slackened.

“I can get you a stepping stool, if that’s what you’d like.”

She lunged and caught him by the throat. “I’ll kill you, bastard.”

He banded his arms around her thighs and held her body against his so that they were eye to eye. She squeezed the thick column of his neck and felt him flex against her grip, which only infuriated her further.

“Do you have any other kinks I should know about?” Amusement laced his words despite her attempt to constrict his airway. “I haven’t forgotten the other one. Do you want me to spit in your mouth again?” his tone was mocking. "Or somewhere _else_?"

She dug her thumbs into his adam’s apple.

Madara turned around and dropped her on the counter. “Even with your hands around my neck, your killing intent is lacking. Behind the anger, you know what I see, _liebling_? I see uncertainty. I see fear.” He closed his eyes and pried her hands from this throat with brute force. When his lids rose, his eyes were manic. “And it makes me so fucking hard.”

He ripped her pants down and unbuckled his belt. Her instincts kicked in. She leaned back and kicked out as hard as she could but he caught her feet and slung it over his shoulder. Leaning down, he pulled the white lace of her underwear to the side and spread her swollen labia. She clenched reflexively.

“So pretty,” his voice was guttural.

He drew closer and spat on her exposed hole. Gravity made his saliva slide down the crease of her ass. Fisting his cock, he followed the wet trail and pushed it back up to the entrance of her sex, sliding in just enough for her to feel the incredible stretch of his girth. The burning stretch made suck in a breath. She watched as he sunk another inch into her. The sight was almost unbearable. He was so big.

He abruptly pulled out and grabbed her jaw, hard enough to bruise, and forced her meet his eyes. “Say my name, Sakura. Whose cock do you want inside this pretty little cunt?”

She bit her lip, refusing to answer.

He directed the engorged tip of his cock back and forth over her sensitive clit, eliciting a half-whimper. “Don’t be stubborn.” He tilted her head back and kissed up the column of her throat, then nipped the underside of her jaw.

She dragged her nails down his forearm, glaring with pure malice.

He chuckled and moved his hand to a tender bruise on her hip, caressing it lightly. “Say my name.” He pressed down on the area, making her wince.

Madara had always been a little sadistic. Maybe more than a little.

“Asshole,” Sakura answered.

He pressed down harder and she sucked in a breath from the pain. “Try again.”

“Bastard,” she gritted through her teeth.

He seized her by the throat and regarded her with hooded eyes. “Someone’s going to give in tonight, and it won’t be me.” Spreading her thighs, he roughly thrust into her.

She cried out sharply. Tears sprung to her eyes at the feeling of being stretched her to the limit. He was only halfway inside, yet she felt overwhelmed by how thick he was.

“Shhh,” he hushed her and licked the tear that escaped her eye. He slid out and forced himself back in again and again, each time getting a bit more of his cock inside her tight channel.

The pain gradually subsided with each thrust, replaced by a white-heat that burned in the pit of her belly.

“Almost there.”

She looked down and saw that he was nearly fully inside. With a forceful thrust, he sheathed the final couple inches. She could feel him pressed against her cervix. He started a punishing pace, ruthlessly pounding into her. Obscene noises filled the room; wet, squelching sounds and slapping flesh.

The pleasure built until she couldn’t take it anymore. She pressed her face into his neck to muffle her cries. Just as she felt herself unraveling, he stopped. Her eyes shot open to find him watching her with a cruel smile.

“Say my name.” He drew languid circles on her clit with his thumb.

She shuddered but held her tongue.

“Say it,” his voice was a command. He pinched the nub hard enough for her to yelp.

“Madara.” She gave in, too exhausted to put up a fight. 

"Madara what?" He regarded her with half-lidded eyes.

She tried to roll her hips but his iron grip prohibited any movement.

"Beg for it." Despite his little power game, his cock pulsed deep inside her.

“Madara, please,” she detested the desperation in her voice. 

He waited expectantly for her to continue, and when she didn't, he pulled out.

Frustration welled in her chest. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. "God I _hate_ you. Pleaseletmecome."

He slammed back into her with a brutal thrust, the tip of his cock hitting her cervix. She immediately came apart, squeezing her eyes shut as waves of overwhelming pleasure tore through her.

He pounded into her relentlessly, watching her face intently as she came on his cock. “That’s it, good girl,” he growled, fucking her through her orgasm. With a final thrust, he came deep inside her, filling her up with his thick seed until it oozed around his cock and spilled out of her. He pushed the mixture of their come back in. The action made her clench around him.

Catching her chin, he pressed his lips to hers, his tongue invading her mouth.

_Conqueror_, the word echoed in her head as she submitted to him. The kiss was possessive and consuming; he tasted like a special brand of danger. One that she could get used to. The world blurred around them, and just for a moment, she wondered what life would be like if they were normal people and not contract killers who lived in the shadows, courting death every night.

He pulled back and gazed at her for several heartbeats, pupils dilating, then turned to the bathtub to start the water. “Wait here.”

Sakura felt the keen absence of his warmth, but it was only briefly, as he returned to strip her while the tub filled. Once naked, he lifted her into his arms. She rested her cheek on his broad shoulder as he carried her over. He was uncharacteristically gentle, which she found even more disturbing than his usual psychopathic tendencies. After setting her down in the warm water, he removed his own clothes.

She watched as he pulled each article of clothing from his body, exposing the ridges of muscles on his massive frame. He was built like a Greek god. Built to fight. Built to fuck. Her eyes drew to a scar on his shoulder. Her lips turned up. It was where she shot him. She looked for an area above his elbow—another scar—where she caught him with a knife. She couldn’t help but laugh.

Madara raised a brow as he stepped in the water, bodily moving her so that she sat between his legs.

“You wear my scars nicely.”

“I never got the wounds treated properly, I like the reminder of you.”

She turned to look at him, a strange feeling building inside her. “You’re sick in the head,” she muttered, and for once, there was no spite in the insult.

He proceeded to wash her hair before cleaning himself. It was surreal to see the infamous Madara Uchiha, the Reaper himself, act so...tender and domestic. She wondered if she was in a parallel universe, or if it was all an illusion. A dream. She didn’t want to wake up. Not yet.

_Just for the night_. The voice inside her head reminded her. 

Stepping out of the water, she wrapped the plush towel around herself and hugged her chest, feeling conflicted.

“Help yourself.” He nodded in the direction of the closet.

She walked in to find that it was even bigger than the bathroom. Rows of expensive black suits lined the walls. Polished leather wingtip and cap-toe oxfords, derbies and brogues. Long coats, overcoats, ties, watches and—she pulled open a drawer—his classic leather gloves. There had to be at least a dozen of them. Who needed that many pairs of gloves?

Continuing further into the closet, she pulled open a random drawer. Guns. “Where the hell are your pajamas?” she shouted, picking up a pistol and checking if it was loaded. It was.

He appeared at the door with a towel around his waist. “I don’t wear any.”

“Then what do you wear to bed?”

“Nothing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Figured.”

“I do have T-shirts in the back.”

“T-shirts that probably cost a couple hundred dollars,” she snorted, opening a dresser. Upon seeing the contents within, she froze. 

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Four pink wigs that were exactly the shade of her hair. Various lengths and cuts she had in the past two years. She slowly backed away until she bumped into a substantial mass. Her heart skyrocketed. She whipped around with the handgun that she took from his drawer but he caught her wrist and disarmed her with a practiced ease.

“Not that dresser.” He reached over her shoulder and closed the door. Two doors down, he pulled out a white cotton shirt and offered it to her.

Sakura didn’t move. “Why do you have those wigs?”

He stared at her, unblinking, face devoid of emotion. 

She swallowed. “Are you…are you into cosplay?”

The eerie stillness broke as his face twisted with the confusion that she felt.

“Do you dress up as me?” she clarified.

“What the fuck?”

Relief made her shoulders sag. “Thank god.” She accepted the shirt and leaned against the dresser. “I mean I always knew you were mentally deranged but I think that would’ve crossed the line for me.”

He burst out laughing and she slowly joined in, because she didn’t know how else to react, until he abruptly stopped. “No, I make the women I fuck wear them so I can get off imagining that it’s you,” he deadpanned.

The shirt dropped with her jaw. She closed her mouth, then opened it again. “Okay you definitely need help.”

“Would you like to help me then?” He stepped forward with a suggestive grin.

She could see his erect member clearly imprinted against the white towel. “Hell no. You have a guest bedroom right?” she asked, heading back to the bathroom. Closing the door, she dropped the towel and shrugged on the soft cotton shirt. It hung above her knees, giving an illusion of modesty. She didn’t have spare underwear.

“I have an office and an armory. My guests don’t sleep over,” he answered from the other side of the door.

“Oh.” She opened the door to find him blocking the way, arms raised above his head holding the top of the doorframe, triceps flexed. Heat flared in her belly. She averted her eyes. “I’ll sleep on the sofa downstairs then. Do you have extra blankets?”

“You sleep here.” He stepped to the side and pointed to the king-sized bed.

“Okay you take the sofa then.”

“I’m sleeping here as well.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not sleeping with you.” Suddenly feeling petulant, her arms fell to her sides. “Do you _really_ want to expose yourself at your most vulnerable state to an enemy?”

“I’m not worried. Are you?”

She knew he was baiting her but answered anyway. “No.”

The corners of his lips turned up. “Then we’ll sleep together.”

“I’d recommend you at least wear boxer briefs tonight. Who knows, you might go to hell tonight and you don’t want to meet the devil butt-naked I’m sure.”

He pulled her against his body. “Are you going to send me to the fiery depths of hell tonight?” His tone was mocking.

“Maybe.”

Silence stretched between them. She closed her eyes and breathed in, taking in his fresh masculine scent.

“I won’t leave this life without you, Sakura. I’d miss you too much,” he murmured darkly. She didn’t miss the underlying threat; that he’d take her to hell with him. “Your defiant eyes and your sharp tongue. Your soft lips. Your pretty little cunt. Your threats on my life.”

She pushed away and climbed into the bed. He was absolutely insane. “I’m sure the devil will make plenty of threats.”

“But they won’t turn me on.”

“I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.” She scooted to the far edge of the bed, just a bare couple of centimeters from falling off. She heard his deep rumble of laughter behind her as the lights turned off. Moonlight washed over the room. Lying on her side, she stared out the curtainless windows overlooking the large expanse of the city. The stars were hidden but the sparkling lights of the cityscape were good enough for her. She was never one to make wishes to fallen stars. 

Madara slid under the covers and wrapped his arms around her waist. He flipped her to the other side of the bed, so his back was against the window, and drew her into the heat of his body.

“Hey! I was enjoying the view.” She elbowed his ribs.

“Snipers,” was his only response.

She rolled her eyes. “Right, like someone would try to snipe at us on the 66th floor. The surrounding high-rises aren't even high enough.”

“Not at me. At you.”

“I’m always on a hit list. Usually more than one. Occupational hazard.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “There’s an infinitesimal risk someone will try to kill you while you’re with me, but I won’t risk it. Only I’m allowed to kill you.”

Her face twisted. “You know a .50 cal is going straight through you anyway.”

“The glass is reinforced. It will significantly reduce the stopping power of the bullet. That is, if anyone is willing to induce my wrath to begin with.”

“I would,” she said as a matter-of-factly.

His cock twitched against her. “I know you would. That’s why I like you.”

— X —

Madara stood in his living room, observing the destruction with a smirk on his face.

“I’ll check the security cameras,” Izuna promised. “And when I find them I’ll skin th—”

The older Uchiha cut him off with a raised hand. “She belongs to me.”

“She?”

He strode to the blackwood table; the only piece of furniture not destroyed in the room. On top of it sat a note, alongside the knife used to vandalize hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of furnishings.

_This is payback for destroying my furniture._

He picked up the blade and threw it in the air. It made three rotations before he caught it and slammed it through the center of the note. “I think I might be in love.”

“WHAT?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to write a softer side to Madara even though he's an absolute psychopath. He'll always be a sweet cinnamon roll in my eyes, no matter how demented or unhinged I write him.


	3. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Birthday presents. I need suggestions.”
> 
> “Uhhh...flowers?” Izuna offered. “Girls like roses. Venus et Fleur supposedly lasts for an entire year. Longer than my previous relationship, so I can't personally confirm.”
> 
> "Fresh roses last longer than your relationships," Madara deadpanned. “But I was thinking more along the lines of a carbon fiber knife. It’s invisible to metal detectors, she would make good use of it. Or maybe fiber wire? It’s quite efficient and discreet in killing a target. Strangulation leaves little to no blood.”

III. BIRTHDAY

♫【 [c r e e p](https://youtu.be/KEmdOK2kN5c) 】♫

— X —

The pink tresses looked wrong. Which shouldn't have been the case, considering it was her exact shade. He sent photos, videos and even a couple strands from the back of her head so that the custom-made wigs would be identical to her hair.

But something was off.

Madara slid his cock out of the wet, eager mouth and straightened to his full height. The woman pouted and sat back on her heels before him, completely naked; a stark contrast to his fully-suited form. The pink wig hid her blonde hair, though her eyebrows gave it away. She gazed up at him, doe-like eyes blinking slowly. 

“Stay,” he ordered in a clipped tone, tucking himself in his tailored trousers. She whined as he strode to the bathroom, her voice a high-pitched sound that made him consider removing her vocal cords. Returning with a pair of scissors, he stood over her with an impassive face. When she caught the glint of steel, she cowered and gave him a look of apprehension.

It elicited nothing from him, not even the slightest stir of excitement. 

Madara crouched down and she began to shake as he ran the tip of the scissors across her throat, then over the hair along her shoulder. “Not another fucking sound.” His voice was deceptively soft.

She nodded frantically, her ash blonde brows drawn together as he tangled his fingers through the long pink wig. Gathering it in one hand, he shortened the length by an inch with a single cut and sat back to observe his work. Unfortunately, his precision with blades did not extend to scissors. The ends were uneven. 

Everything was wrong.

Dropping the scissors on the nightstand, he paced back and forth, muscles tense. The only sounds in the room were the near-silent steps of his cap-toe oxfords and a faint police siren in the distance. The submissive woman sat quietly; docile, waiting for his command.

After _ that _ night, Madara no longer felt satisfied pretending the women he fucked were Sakura. They felt like mediocre substitutes for what he truly hungered for. Like a sickness seeping through his veins, she had invaded his every waking thought. Hyperfixation. Love. Obsession. Whatever it was, he wanted to kill her for making him feel those emotions, but then he’d have to follow her to hell because the devil wasn’t allowed to have her. She belonged to him alone.

He pulled out his phone. The time and date appeared at the top. His feet stopped moving as he zeroed in on the date. 

_March 21st_.

Sakura’s birthday was in a week, he realized.

Opening his contacts, he pressed the star on the bottom left. A single name appeared. The phone rang three times before she picked up.

“Hello?” Her familiar voice made his half-hard cock swell in the confines of his pants. Just like that, his veins felt like they were set ablaze.

“_Liebling_,” Madara purred, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Sakura answered with a muffled litany of profanity. “Didn’t I block your god damn number?”

“Did you really think that would stop me?” He asked, fisting his now fully erect member.

“You have two seconds to tell me why the hell you’re calling before I trace the call back to your location and level your head in the crosshair of my sniper. I’ll even make it home in time for dinner.”

He groaned low in his throat, thrilled by her bravado. They were making progress. Leaps and bounds, as far as he was concerned. “Foreplay before dinner? I like it.” Her threat made his cock throb.

She cursed again and his smile widened. 

“By all means, do trace the call to my location. I'd be delighted to have you as my _stalker_.” He used the word she was so fond of against her, intending to rile her even further. 

“That’s different,” Sakura snapped. “_You’ve _ been keeping track of me, following me around, breaking into my apartments and trying to kill me for the past five years—almost six. You’re actually a psychopathic stalker,” she hissed. 

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead,” he stated plainly, “and no one would find your body. But what can I say? The sight of you at my mercy always makes me hard. I crave the fear in your eyes.” It was true. Nothing aroused him as much as she did.

“Sick bastard. I hope—”

“Did you miss my cock?" he interrupted, “I miss your pretty little cunt.” Closing his eyes, he imagined her in front of him, slender ankles over his shoulders, taking him through gritted teeth and tears. 

The other end of the line was silent.

“Don’t be shy, _ liebling_.” He stroked his cock in languid motions, up and down, working his shaft from base to tip.

“I’m afraid I barely remember it. Hard to miss something so unimpressive,” Sakura answered after a long moment.

“Then perhaps I should come and remind you.” Madara’s grin was savage. He extended his thumb to sweep over the sensitive head of his cock, gathering the pearlescent fluid that seeped from the tip.

Something primal always stirred inside him when it came to her. An unrelenting urge to claim her, to fuck her into submission. Despite her fear, she always fought back; their love language was of guns and blades, bloody kisses and purple bruises. She made his blood sing. He wanted to consume her whole, to open her ribcage and claim her beating heart for himself.

“No!” Sakura shouted. “If I see you I’m shooting you on sight.”

The line went dead.

He brought the darkened phone to his face and tapped the screen. It illuminated, revealing Sakura’s sleeping face. She looked soft and vulnerable; unguarded, with her lips slightly parted and her long lashes shadowed over her cheeks. His fist tightened around his pulsing length as the speed of his strokes increased, eyes never leaving the photo on his lockscreen.

“Open,” Madara ordered. His abdomen tightened.

The substitute obeyed immediately. She tilted her head back, mouth wide open, waiting with her hands folded in her lap.

In a sea of obedience, he wanted someone to challenge him. He wanted defiance. He wanted _ Sakura_. That was the name that left his lips as he filled another woman’s mouth with his cum.

— X —

Interrogation wasn’t exactly Madara’s specialty, but he was efficient at it nonetheless. It required a special brand of persuasion. Of cruelty. It was more intimate than tracking down a target and executing them with a bullet through the head. When people thought of interrogation—not of the legal variety—they often defaulted to thinking of brutality. Torture. And for the most part, they were right. Getting answers by inflicting physical pain was certainly the optimal method. 

Everyone bent at the knee to pain.

Itachi liked to remind him that reducing the art of interrogation to breaking bones and removing limbs was unrefined—he was the specialist, knew exactly how to inflict the maximum amount of pain with the minimum amount of bloodshed. Less to clean up. But Madara’s methods were a little more...crude. Blood was inevitable, which was why he always wore a black butcher’s apron and gloves during his sessions. Shirtless, because bloodstains were difficult to remove from certain fabrics.

A ringtone filled the air, accompanying the screams of agony that reverberated through the room. Madara’s bloodstained knife fell on the metal tray beside him with a clang as he traded it for his phone.

_ Izuna_. He swiped his thumb across the screen and brought the phone to his ear.

“Sorry I missed your—is someone crying?” There was no surprise in Izuna’s voice, only idle curiosity.

Madara eyed the man suspended before him. His naked, trembling body swayed back and forth in the air. Rivers of blood ran from the wounds on his body, pooling on the ground beneath him. His hands were a blueish purple from the lack of circulation of being hanged by the wrists for several hours. His cardinal red hair was matted to his forehead, his bruised and bloody face stained with tears. Soon, he would lose consciousness.

“Yes. Don’t mind it.”

“Alright, well the Shimura contract is complete. No loose ends this time, I made sure of it. Did you need something or were you just calling to check up on my status?”

“Both.”

Izuna waited for his brother to continue, listening to the faint sounds of weeping in the background.

“What’s a good birthday present for a female around Izumi’s age? The gift I intended is going to be late.”

Caught off guard by the question, Izuna was silent for a moment. “Uh, who is the recipient of the gift? Please don’t tell me it’s that pink-haired menace—yes I did check the security cameras”

Madara chuckled.

“So it _ is _ for her? I can’t believe it. She tore through your entire living room; I’d say she hates your guts. Can’t you pursue someone normal instead?”

“I run the most powerful organization of contract killers in the world. Why the fuck would I want someone ordinary?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Izuna audibly exhaled. “Look at Izumi, she’s pretty normal, isn’t part of the business, does her own thing. Oh yeah, and she also _ reciprocates Itachi’s feelings_,” he emphasized the last part.

Madara made a dismissive noise. Sakura would learn to love him. One way or another. He’d make sure of it.

“Okay forget it. All I’m saying is her threat profile is fairly high—she works for Tsunade.”

“She’s a threat to my furniture, not my life.” Madara said wryly. 

Sakura believed that he saw her as prey, something to hunt down at his leisure, but she was wrong. He knew she was a predator herself, and he wanted to sharpen her fangs. Everytime he came to play their game, he knew her submission would have to be earned by brute force. With every visit, he could tell that she was a little faster, a little stronger, a little more vicious. Sakura was no prey, but she didn’t quite have the bloodlust that was instinctual to him. Yet. He would foster it. He wanted her anger and her defiance. He wanted it all.

Madara was a man of few hobbies, but Sakura was undoubtedly his favorite.

The captive began hyperventilating, interrupting his musing. “Kill me. Please kill me,” he begged. The bloodshot whites of his eyes nearly drowned out his pupils.

Madara moved the phone a couple inches away. “You don’t get to die until you tell me where Orochimaru is hiding,” he said, voice flat.

“I swear I don’t know!” He cried in earnest. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he chanted the words over and over again, in manic repetition.

Madara punched him in the face and something cracked under the force of the blow, effectively silencing him. He rolled his shoulder and brought the phone back to his ear, shooting the man a _ behave _ look. It did occur to him that the captive didn’t actually know Orochimaru’s current location, but he was his former partner. He had to know _ something_. And at this point, Madara was ready to settle for any information. Her birthday was quickly approaching.

“Brother?”

“Birthday presents. I need suggestions.”

“Uhhh...flowers?” Izuna offered. “Girls like roses. Venus et Fleur supposedly lasts for an entire year. Longer than my previous relationship, so I can't personally confirm.”

"Fresh roses last longer than your relationships," Madara deadpanned. “But I was thinking more along the lines of a carbon fiber knife. It’s invisible to metal detectors, she would make good use of it. Or maybe fiber wire? It’s quite efficient and discreet in killing a target. Strangulation leaves little to no blood.”

“Why would you supply her with weapons to use against you? Or your furniture,” Izuna quickly amended.

“An entertaining thought.”

Izuna groaned. “You should talk to Izumi. I don’t think we’re on the same page here. We’re not even reading the same book.” Exasperation filled every word.

Madara sighed. “Very well.” He ended the call and turned his attention back to the captive who started shaking violently. Pulling his chair directly in front of him, Madara sat down and picked up his knife. He raised the narrow blade to the light and examined the serrated edge, then spun the blade around his fingers in contemplation.

“Should I get her roses?” The knife came to a stop in the palm of his hand. “Or a knife?”

“M-mercy...please.”

A slow smile stretched across Madara’s face. “Do I strike you as someone capable of mercy?”

— X —

“Wow, you redecorated.” Izumi peered around the spacious penthouse in wonder. “Lighter,” she murmured to herself, noting the neutral palette of white oak and dove grey.

“Not by choice,” Madara said dryly.

She met his eyes with surprise. “The new furnishings or the color scheme?”

“Former.”

“I’m surprised you can be forced to do anything.”

“I prefer not to sit on a destroyed sofa.”

Izumi shook her head, feeling pity for whoever had the audacity to cross the Reaper in his own home. “Well, it looks good.”

Madara didn’t acknowledge her comment. He turned his back to her, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window. Ominous dark clouds loomed over the city. A low crackle of thunder broke the stillness, and on its heels, the first drops of rain pelted the glass, promising a torrential downpour.

“So Izuna told me you’re courting someone,” Izumi changed the subject to avoid incurring any possible vestiges of his wrath. He was difficult to read, unlike her patients. She pulled her gaze from his imposing silhouette against the backdrop of the blackened sky. “Tell me about her. Are you two official?” 

Madara turned his head slightly towards her. “Official?”

“Are you committed?” Izumi elaborated, taking a seat on a gray accent armchair. “Or is it a temporary friends-with-benefits kind of relationship?” She wanted to get a better understanding of the situation.

“I’m as committed as a seven-figure contract without conditional clauses.”

Izumi’s brows shot up. She didn’t take part in the Uchiha businesses, but she was aware of it from what Itachi was allowed to tell her—none of the details, of course. It was for her own protection. “You’re serious then. Do you see her often? Weekly dates?”

“I _ see _ her every day.” Madara drawled. “We’ve had a couple...dates. Always at her apartment.”

“She doesn’t like going out?” Izumi asked, choosing to ignore the unsettling feeling she got from his answer.

He took a moment to consider it. He had always just shown up at her apartment. Should he start paying her visits during missions instead?

“It’s not unusual,” Izumi assured him. “Itachi and I enjoy the occasional date night in; order pizza, watch a movie. Something like that, yes?”

“Not quite. We fight. I enjoy forcing her into submission,” Madara replied without missing a beat.

Izumi stared at him, mouth agape. “Okay…sounds a little dangerous. Kinky bedroom activities, huh?”

Madara shrugged, recalling how Sakura shot him in the shoulder. “Nothing life-threatening.”

She squinted and pursed her lips. “Right, right. Do you have any affectionate names for each other?”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw.

“Terms of endearments,” she rectified. “Babe, honey, darling. Itachi calls me my love. It’s been seven years and I still melt every time I hear it.”

“I call her _ liebling_. My favorite.”

A wide smile dawned on Izumi’s face, partially in relief. There was still hope for a semblance of normalcy. “That’s very sweet! Is she German?

“No. But the first time she shot me was in Munich. I like to remind her of our earliest encounter.”

“First—” Izumi cleared her throat. “First time she shot you. I’m...glad you’re faring well. Does she have any endearments for you?”

Madara nodded. “She usually calls me bastard. Asshole, occasionally. She has a way with words. Loves to tease me.”

Izumi’s smile faded and a crease appeared between her brows. “Madara...I studied psychology, but I didn’t specialize in couple’s counseling if that’s what you called me here for. I’m afraid you'll need to seek professional help for that,” she said apologetically. Leaning forward, her voice dropped to a whisper. “But you should be aware that patient confidentiality only goes so far. You don't want the feds asking questions. I’m sure you and her can work it out between yourselves. Just...keep the guns away.”

Madara approved of Itachi’s fiancé. She was intelligent, loyal, and had an even temperament. An assassin who specialized in interrogation and a clinical psychologist. They made quite the couple. If she ever decided to join the business—which was unlikely—she would be a valuable asset.

“Actually, I only needed suggestions for a birthday gift.”

“Oh!” She sat back. “I can definitely help with that.”

“You’re 26, correct?” Izumi nodded. “She’ll be the same age as you, might like the same things too.”

“Just because we’re in the same demographic doesn’t mean our interests are similar.” 

“I’m aware. But Itachi seems to be doing something right as there’s a ring on your finger.”

Izumi looked down at the 3 carat diamond and her eyes crinkled. “Yes, I suppose he is doing something right. But my favorite present from him is his time. The memories we make together are the gifts I cherish most. If you’re talking about tangible gifts, I think girls generally enjoy receiving jewelry. You can’t go wrong with diamonds.” She raised her right hand, revealing a gold Cartier bracelet set with the sparkling gemstones. “Itachi got me this the second year we were dating. Our anniversary is engraved in roman numerals. A personalized gift holds more value.”

Madara made a mental note to personalize the gift, but he never understood the proverb ‘diamonds are a girl’s best friend’. What value did diamonds have outside of their monetary worth? Nothing. Weapons were far superior. 

Hell, even his fists were better.

— X —

Sakura stared at the two matte black boxes sitting on her coffee table. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who it was from. The Uchiha bastard broke into her apartment _ again_. 

She briefly wondered if there was a bomb ticking down in one of the boxes; his idea of an amusing birthday surprise for her—death, but brushed away the thought as it wasn’t his modus operandi. Madara took great pleasure in close quarter combat for a reason. He liked being up close and personal so he could see the life fade from his victim’s eyes. One day, when he finally grew tired of his sadistic game, she suspected he’d make an actual attempt to kill her by strangling her to death. Or slitting her throat.

She’d have to kill him first.

Sakura sunk into her sofa and stared at the smaller box wrapped with a blood-red ribbon. Instead of opening it, she placed the box on her lap and stared at it as though it was a foreign object. She wasn’t surprised that Madara knew her birthday, but the gifts were unexpected and she was feeling more than a little suspicious. For a split second, she considered setting it on fire. She would just have to remove the fire alarms first. Instead, she pulled on one end of the silk ribbon, unraveling the bow, and lifted the lid of the box. A slip of paper floated to the ground and landed at her bare feet. The Uchiha insignia was imprinted on it. She picked it up and flipped it over.

_ONE FREE USE_. 

In smaller text beneath it: _ My fists. _

In even smaller text: _ Will beat the fuck out of anyone_.

She stared in silence for several heartbeats, then burst out laughing in incredulity. Madara Uchiha had a peculiar sense of humor. She crushed the paper in her hand and tossed it on the table. 

Turning her attention back to the box, she found a telescopic sight nestled in the cushion. Her eyes drew down to the bigger box as it clicked in her head. Surely enough, inside the larger case was a VSS—an integrally suppressed sniper rifle. One of the best 'silent' sniper rifles on the market. It used a subsonic 9x39 mm cartridge designed to operate below the speed of sound. She mounted the scope on the rifle. An effective range of approximately 400 meters.

Sakura ran her fingers down the cold steel of the barrel. She might have actually appreciated the gift...if it wasn’t _ pink_. The shade of her hair, to be precise. She turned the heavy rifle, scrutinizing it with a look of disgust until something caught her eye. A series of numbers and letters was engraved on the side of the scope.

48.1351 N 11.5820 E

Mystified, she typed the code into her phone. A location appeared in Munich, Germany—the exact coordinates of their fateful meeting.

The corners of her lips turned up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i'm two weeks late for sakura's birthday but i hope you enjoyed the wholesome birthday content ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ


	4. Written In Flesh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the center stood Madara, taller than his hunters. She couldn’t see his face but she could always point him out in a sea of people by his powerful stature, the confidence in which he carried himself, and the faintest feeling of her survival instincts kicking in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood & violence, explicit sexual content, dubious consent, light sadism, knife play

IV: WRITTEN IN FLESH

♫【 [e v e r y b r e a t h y o u t a k e](https://youtu.be/U5DC7X-hr7E) 】♫

— X —

_I need you to do me a favor. _

Sakura owed Tsunade a life debt, so whenever Tsunade called in a favor, Sakura was always happy to oblige. But this wasn’t exactly what she expected when she got the call. In her handful of years in the underworld of crime, she had a broad range of experiences all over the world, from assassinating Yakuza leaders in Tokyo and politicians in Bogotá to making friends with arms dealers in Belgrade and intel brokers in Ankara. What she’d never done until now, however, was work with a CIA agent.

Sakura wasn’t exactly thrilled. 

It wasn’t uncommon for those who worked on the opposing side of the law to work _ with _ the law as a part of a plea deal if they were captured; backs against the wall, but this was different. It seemed as though Tsunade had some sort of arrangement that made the Central Intelligence Agency turn a blind eye to her operations. Still, Sakura kept expecting handcuffs to be slapped on his wrists at any moment _ . _ Not that it’d be difficult to break out of, but she was on plenty of lists and she could do without being on the U.S. government’s. They might not have gotten off on the right foot, her and her temporary partner, but they had a Capo—a captain—to apprehend. 

A Capo of none other than the Akatsuki Mafia, who hired her services just a few months prior. 

In the short time frame that she took Kakuzu’s contract, she developed a decent understanding of the inner workings of his particular domain in the Mafia. When she completed the contract with no blood trails, he even offered her a long term arrangement to become his personal bounty hunter, but she had declined as her loyalties lied with Tsunade. Now she was back in his den of vice with a role to play.

Find the target. Neutralize him. Get him out.

Should be simple enough. She wasn’t privy to why the CIA wanted him—the information was classified. Even Tsunade was tight-lipped about it. The CIA’s MO really wasn’t any of her concern.

Sakura swept over the first floor of the bustling casino from the overlook. High rollers crowded the baize tables; baccarat, blackjack, roulette, where the highest stakes were held. There was a reason why those tables were green: color psychology. Green was supposed to induce a feeling of stability. It was unfortunate that she never got that sense when she looked at the reflection of her eyes in the mirror. Her attention drew to the lobby on the opposite end of the lavish casino, where the crowd parted for three figures. Three men in tailored black suits.

Her blood ran cold.

In the center stood Madara, taller than his hunters. She couldn’t see his face but she could always point him out in a sea of people by his powerful stature, the confidence in which he carried himself, and the faintest feeling of her survival instincts kicking in. He had the kind of presence that exuded authority; commanded a room with ease. It infuriated her to no ends how he always managed to look impeccable. Untouchable. Like the world was his oyster. In some ways, it was. The Uchiha Syndicate had a vast underground criminal network on a global scale. Their reputation of being the deadliest assassination ring in the world was well earned. And the fact that they were here spelled bad news for her.

Only a step behind their boss, flanking both sides, she recognized his younger brother and second in command, Izuna, and a scarred man she couldn’t dig up much information on, Obito; all she knew was that he was in Madara’s inner circle. The three of them together amplified the aura of danger.

Madara made a motion with his hand and the two split from him, going opposite directions. 

“We...have a problem,” Sakura said into her earpiece. She wouldn’t be able to keep track of all three of them now that they were seperated. And there could be more. She had to avoid them.

There was a faint crackling noise in her ear before Tobirama Senju’s voice came out deep and clear, and somewhat condescending. “That’s why we have contingency plans, Haruno. What’s the problem?” 

The words were on the tip of her tongue, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “Security seems higher than usual,” she said instead.

“Keep a low profile. Remember this is a non-lethal apprehension. I know your kind—don’t go around killing everyone you see. You won’t be the only one facing repercussions.”

_ Tsunade. _

Sakura held back a scathing reply. She didn’t go around killing people senselessly. She might’ve been an assassin but she had standards. Besides, they weren’t all that different; both of their hands were stained with blood, the only difference was that he was sanctioned by law to kill. His holier-than-thou attitude was grating on her nerves. “Y_ou _ keep a low profile, _ Agent_.” The noun sounded like an insult from her mouth. “Want to know what we do to your kind in this neck of the woods?”

“I know very well.” Tobirama’s voice was glacial. “And I suggest you keep your threats to yourself, for your own sake. This is all recorded. Now, I’ve tampered with the security cameras and the phone lines. You have approximately twenty-eight minutes before it returns online.”

“I’m going radio silent. I’ll let you know when the objective is secured.” Before he could argue, she turned off the device. In their car ride to the casino, he made his distaste for her—or her profession—quite clear. The feeling was mutual. They were predisposed to dislike each other, but nonetheless, she still had to put up with him for the time being. That didn’t mean she had to keep listening to him.

Sakura mentally went over the layout of the opulent casino. The first three floors were the gambling dens itself and the next five floors were rooms and suites. That left floors nine to twelve for business operations, with the ninth floor being specially designated for their prostitution ring. If she remembered correctly, Kakuzu had two offices: one on the top floor that everyone knew of, where he did all his business transactions with VIPs; CEOs, politicians, investors—the corrupt upper echelon of high society—and a second office two floors down reserved for mafia business, but he could be anywhere between those four floors. She just had to find him first.

Four inch heels clacking on the white marble floors, she made her way to the elevators that could access the upper floors. A stone-faced security guard stood before the metal doors.

“Identification?” the guard inquired, holding out his hand.

“I lost my card.” Sakura offered a sheepish smile. She could tell by the guard's face that he wasn’t buying it. He pulled out his radio but before he could press a button, her heel connected with his hand, sending the device flying. “Sorry, can’t let you do that,” she said, widening her stance for balance and bringing up her fists.

_ Non-lethal operation. _

The guard threw the first hook, leaving him open. Sakura parried and pivoted on her rear foot, hips rotating as her body weight shifted towards her front foot. Her right shoulder came up, arm extended, following the force of her body. Her fist connected with the ridge between his ear and his chin, an area filled with vital pressure points that linked the head to the rest of the body.

He hit the ground, unconscious.

She crouched down and dug into his pockets, finding a keycard for the elevator. _ Perfect. _ She straightened her black dress, brushing out the wrinkles. Scanning the card, she pressed the arrow pointed up.

_ Ding. _

The doors slid open.

Inside, leaning against the handrail, was Izuna Uchiha.

Sakura stepped inside, not uttering a single word but her brain had already gone through the entire alphabet of curses—in several languages. So much for avoiding the Uchiha.

Izuna regarded her with narrowed eyes. The doors slid close as he pressed the number twelve with a little more force than necessary. Low opera music resumed playing overhead as they ascended.

Sakura stood in one corner, staring directly ahead, while he stood on the opposite corner. She could feel his eyes burning into her so she turned to face him, not one to back down from a challenge. She could see the resemblance to his brother in the dark hair and daunting eyes, but he while Madara was built like a hockey player, Izuna was built like a swimmer: lean muscles, slimmer physique.

Several floors passed and not a single word was exchanged between them. Just a stare down. Maybe if she ignored his existence...

Izuna lifted his chin and crossed his arms. He gave her a once over, sizing her up. “Sakura Haruno. What’s your business here?” he asked, voice dripping with thinly veiled hostility.

She had no intention to cooperate with an interrogation. “If it was your business you’d know,” she said in a clipped tone.

“It is my business if you’re here for Kakuzu. Or my brother.”

“As if I’d ever be here for your brother. Or anywhere, for that matter.”

“What are your intentions with him?”

Sakura’s jaw dropped in utter disbelief. “_My _ intentions—? You’ve got to be fucking with me.” 

Izuna scowled. “I wouldn’t say that around him if I were you. He’ll take it the wrong way.”

“Because he’s insane!” Sakura hissed, on the edge of losing her temper. “Your brother is clinically insane!”

“Clinical insanity isn't a diagnosis that exists in the medical field. He has psychopathic tendencies, yes, but who doesn’t in this line of work?” Izuna snapped back, defensive of his brother.

_ Ding. _

The elevator door slid open and they both had their guns in hand, pointed at the unsuspecting stranger.

“He’s sadistic, manipulative, has a god complex, lacks even the most basic understanding of human emotion like remorse, guilt or empathy, completely disregards others’ thoughts and feelings,” Sakura heatedly listed off on her fingers. “Sounds a bit more than_ just tendencies _to me.”

“Take the stairs,” Izuna barked at the wide-eyed man standing outside. He nodded frantically, backing up with his hands raised in the air. The metal door slid to a close and they continued up. “Madara operates by his own set of morals—”

Sakura cut him off. “That’s the thing, he has no morals!”

_ Ding. _The elevator stopped on the next floor. 

“Take the fucking stairs!” they yelled simultaneously.

Obito stood outside with his hands in his pockets, eyebrows raised. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Fuck’s sake, Obito.” Izuna lowered his gun, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Obito stepped inside. “You must be Sakura Haruno,” he said with a grin. “Big fan.”

Sakura rolled her eyes. She had _ enough _ of the Uchihas for an entire lifetime.

“You took out the main branch of the Sicily cartel two years ago, didn’t you?” Obito continued, undeterred that she was very obviously at wit’s end.

“And?”

“Impressive feat,” Obito replied genuinely, throwing her off guard. “Your C4 set up? Brilliant. I cleaned up the rest of the cartel a week after.”

Her brows raised. “The entire…?”

“Everyone in a position of power or had the potential to be,” he confirmed with a nod.

“So much for Alessandro taking over,” she muttered, pursing her lips.

“Gutted him like a fish. Slowly.”

“Ah. I gave his father a swift execution.”

“Did he deserve it?”

“Do any of us?”

Obito slowly nodded with a contemplative look on his face.

“That’s enough!” Izuna snapped, his face contorted with exasperation.

Sakura sideyed him. “What’s your problem, Uchiha junior?” Her condescending tone was like throwing gasoline in fire.

Izuna stepped forward. “You’re my problem,” 

_ Ding. _Top floor.

“If I was your problem, you’d be dead,” she tossed over her shoulder as she brushed past him. 

Izuna’s hand shot out, securing her wrist. She spun around and broke his hold by sharply rotating her arm outwards. He shifted to counter her, but she already had his arm twisted behind his back. She kicked the back of his left knee, making him lose balance and dropping on the knee.

Sakura leaned down and applied pressure on his wrist. “If you touch me again, I will break your arm.”

“You won’t—”

She fisted his hair and slammed his face into the elevator wall. Men had a tendency to underestimate her when they saw her for the first time. Even if they knew she was dangerous on paper, her petite stature and pink hair made them question her actual capabilities, which only served to benefit her.

“Fuck!” Izuna snarled.

“Do you understand?” Her voice was deceptively soft.

Obito whistled low.

“What is going on here?”

The trio snapped their heads back at the same time. Madara’s towering figure casted a shadow into the elevator. Sakura released the younger Uchiha and stepped back. He quickly rose to his feet. 

“You’re, uh, bleeding,” she pointed out.

“Yeah I know,” Izuna glowered. He pulled out his white pocket square and wiped the blood under his nose, ruining the pristine cloth.

Sakura cringed and chanced a glance in Madara’s direction.

His attention was fixed solely on her, his expression unreadable. The weight of his gaze was oppressive; unnerving, even. She lowered her eyes, breaking the contact, and stared at his chest. The notch lapel of his suit jacket was adorned with the Uchiha insignia and the chest strap of his gun holster peeked out from under the suit jacket. Always deadly and dapper.

After several tense heartbeats, Madara lifted his gaze and jerked his head to the side. Izuna and Obito left wordlessly. Sakura briefly considered putting a bullet in their legs. It would be infinitely harder to secure Kakuzu if he fell into their hands, but she had a bigger problem in front of her.

“Who are you all dressed up for, _liebling_?” Madara’s words were disparaging; the endearment held an underlying menace, sounding like a cruel mockery.

Sakura could feel in the pit of her stomach; a gut instinct, that something was wrong. And she couldn’t afford to fight him right now. She slid her gun back into its holster under the high slit of her dress. “Kakuzu is my former contractor and I’m here for negotiations,” she explained, though not entirely sure why she felt the need to. In any other instance, her words would’ve been: _ None of your business, asshole. _

“That’s a shame. You won’t be able to negotiate with the dead, but you’re more than welcome to try.” He turned and strode down the hallway, his long legs eating up distance quickly.

“Wait!” she called out, following after him. It was even more bewildering when he ignored her entirely.

“He’s not here,” Izuna said when Madara walked into the office. At his foot, a twitching hand fell motionless. He took a single step back to keep the expanding pool of blood from tainting his Saint Laurant patent dress shoes.

Standing just outside the door, Sakura exhaled in relief. She could still get to Kakuzu first. Not waiting another moment, she slipped away, taking the stairs two floors down. Entering the tenth floor, she stayed close to the shadows, the corners and the alcoves, bypassing several of Kakuzu’s soldiers until she found his office.

Surely enough, he was there. She spotted his silhouette through the frosted glass wall, heading deeper into the office. She switched on the micro earphone and whispered under her breath, “Target in sight. Tenth floor.”

“Haruno, what the hell is going on?” Tobirama’s words were sharp. 

“Tenth. Floor. Hurry up, I’m going in.” She removed the earpiece and entered. The office was nearly identical to the one on the twelfth floor, the only differences being the complete lack of windows and an additional door next to his desk in the far back.

Kakuzu glanced up at the sound of her entering. The former black market bounty hunter was one of the eight Capos in the Akatsuki Mafia. They had crossed paths a handful of times over the past several years, and he looked exactly the same as he did the first time she saw him: long brown hair that framed his face, eyes a startling green. But what made him memorable was the tattoos of stitches over his Glasgow smile, extending from the corners of his mouth to his cheeks.

“Hello Kakuzu,” Sakura greeted. 

“To what do I owe this surprise?” he asked, but his face conveyed no surprise.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer. The money, in particular.”

He rose from his seat and rounded the desk. “Money is the only dependable thing in the world,” he drawled, leaning on the desk.

“It is,” Sakura agreed.

“What if I’m no longer interested in your services?”

“If you weren’t you would’ve already pulled a gun on me.”

“That might have been the case if you showed up a month earlier. Now your name has been removed from all the lists.”

Sakura’s brows drew together. “What?”

“The bounty on your head quadrupled last month,” Kakuzu stated as though it was obvious.

“I don’t exactly keep track of the monetary value of my head. I always have an active bounty to my name.”

“Now it’s gone. Yet you’re still alive.”

Sakura couldn’t tell if he was messing with her or if he was serious. There hadn’t been a particular increase in attempts on her life in the past several weeks, but he had no reason to lie. “Look I came here to renegotiate your offer. If you want to try taking my head—” she ran her hands through her long pink locks, flipping it over her shoulder, “—then by all means, make your best attempt.”

Kakuzu smirked and waved his hand. “Your skills are still useful. Name your price.”

“I want one hundred thousand for every hit on top of the offer price.”

“Seventy thousand bonus and a twenty percent increase on high profile bounties.”

“Include access to all intel gathered by the Akatsuki.”

“Limited access. Information subject to approval by myself first. I’ll be generous, I know you’re searching for Orochimaru.”

“Deal. I’ll need that signed and dated.” She extended her hand. He shook it with an overtly firm grasp, as though exerting dominance over her. She squeezed back even harder, getting a smirk in response.

“Very well.”

Time seemed to slow as he turned to his desk, shuffling through the stacks of paper. Sakura slowly pulled out a hidden syringe that she'd concocted just for him and moved forward. Kakuzu twisted around, but she slammed the syringe into his neck before he could make another move. He choked and fell to his knees, slurring a couple curses, then his eyes rolled back.

The door opened and she whipped around with her gun out.

It was the Senju Agent. His piercing eyes flicked from her face to Kakuzu’s unconscious form.

“I didn’t kill him,” she said, nose wrinkling at the suspicion on his face. “We need to leave immediately. Kakuzu has his own personal emergency stairway here. We’ll take that exit.” She nodded towards the door in the back of the room.

“Why didn’t you enter from there?” Tobirama asked, easily slinging Kakuzu over his shoulder as if he was her size. 

“Breaking in from the outside triggers the alarms. It’s a one-way path. Exit only.”

Gunshots rang out from the hallway.

“Go! I’ll buy you time.” Sakura kicked off her heels. They would only hinder her.

Tobirama carried his quarry to the emergency exit and tried the handle. “Locked. There’s no keyhole but I can break the strike plate.” He backed up and raised his leg, somehow still remaining balanced even with a full-grown man on his shoulder..

“Stop.” She searched through Kakuzu’s desk and found a switch under one of the drawers. “Not everything requires brute force,” she said dryly, flipping the switch.

Tobirama frowned as the door unlocked with a groan. He hesitated at the threshold. “Don’t make me wait too long, Haruno,” he gritted out, giving her a hard stare.

She glanced back at him, surprised. There was no reason for him to wait for her. Tsunade briefed him that she operated solo. He knew she could get herself out. “Care about my wellbeing, Agent?”

“I care about you not wasting my time.”

“Well right now you’re wasting your own time.” She gave him a pointed look. “I’ve completed my end of the contract. Don’t wait for me.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer then the door swung shut, leaving her alone.

Gun in hand, Sakura tentatively opened the office door and peered outside. Three dead bodies on the ground turned the hallway into macabre sight. Madara stood a short distance away with his back turned to her, Izuna and Obito nowhere in sight. A faint alarm in the back of her mind told her to turn around and make a run for it, but she knew he’d pursue her to the ends of the earth. And he’d catch her.

It was never a good idea to run from an apex predator, especially one as relentless as him. But something had shifted between them, something she didn’t want to admit. She swallowed the lump in her throat and approached him, making her presence known.

“Madara,” she murmured softly, her heart racing.

He turned around, towering over her. “Where is he, Sakura?” Her name sounded unusually cold on his tongue.

“Not here,” she answered truthfully.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re protecting him?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Madara moved her aside, heading towards the office. She quickly circled around him and stopped him with a hand on his broad chest. She saw a glint of bloodlust in his mercurial eyes and her mind scrambled for ways to distract him.

“I never got to thank you.” Sakura’s voice artificially wavered. “For the birthday presents.”

He waited.

Sakura closed her eyes and stood on the tips of her toes, stretching up to reach him. He stood completely still, staring down at her as agonizing seconds passed. After what felt like an eternity, he lowered his head and their lips connected. A shudder ran down her spine; a spark of pleasure. His large hand cradled the side of her face and she leaned into his warmth, almost regretting what she was going to do.

In the same second, she pressed the muzzle of her gun against his stomach and pulled the trigger. Her ear was met with the sharp intake of his breath then he doubled over. Her chest tightened, but she bolted, resisting the urge to look back at him. 

She ran, leaping down flights of stairs, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

9 floors.

5 floors.

2 floors.

Bursting out of the doors, she saw a familiar black car at the corner of the back alley, waiting with the emergency lights on. She sprinted down the street, bare feet hitting cold pavement as Tobirama reached over to open the passenger side.

The sudden boom of doors slamming open made her stumble. 

“Sakura!” Madara roared. 

Sakura glanced back. She couldn’t help it. 

Madra’s face was the perfect image of unholy fury; uninhibited rage. Her feet faltered.

Tobirama jerked her inside the car and slammed on the accelerator before she even had the door completely shut. She watched Madara through the side view mirror as the distance steadily grew between them.

Then he raised his arm, gun in steady hand, and Sakura knew, she _ just knew _ with every fiber of her being that he wasn’t aiming for her.

“Get down!” Sakura shouted, pushing Tobirama. A bullet passed clean through the rear windshield and out the front, where Tobirama’s head would've been. He took a sharp turn so that they were no longer in Madara’s line of sight. She stared at the intricate web of cracks and the hole in its center as they sped away into the night.

“You knew the Uchiha were there,” Tobirama accused. His fists tightened on the steering wheel, white knuckles threatening to burst from the calloused layer of skin.

Sakura didn’t reply. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she just signed his death warrant.

— X —

_ One Week Later _

Sakura jolted awake, clothes drenched in cold sweat. There was a slight tremor in her hand as she gingerly lifted the hem of her shirt. Holding her breath, she glanced down at her stomach. No blood. No gaping wound. But she still felt the phantom pain of the scalpel that cut into her stomach over and over again, still felt the probing fingers and the needles that stitched her flesh back together. Still heard her own screams.

Her fingertips brushed over the raised scars. It had been six years since she was in their captivity. Kabuto was six feet under, but Orochimaru was still alive somewhere out there. She wondered if she’d be able to find a semblance of peace when he was dead as well, maybe then she could lay down her guns and change her identity; maybe move to the south of France and live in a cottage by the sea listening to waves crash into the cliffside at night. 

A quiet life for the remainder of her days.

But hope was a double-edged blade and she wasn’t sure she deserved peace anymore.

Sakura glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 12:46 AM. Nightmares were rare, but when they came, sleep always evaded her for the rest of the night. A single night without sleep was a minor inconvenience when she had been conditioned to operate for 72 hours without it. Some contracts were as simple as waiting for a target from a distance away with a sniper rifle; a single night’s work. Some required her to slip deep into enemy territory in a foreign country, where a single misstep meant her head would be mounted as a trophy, and in those life and death situations it was imperative that she was able to function without sleep for days at a time.

She dragged herself to the bathroom following the sliver of moonlight that peeked through the edge of her curtains. In the scalding hot shower, she scrubbed her skin raw. When she blinked, the water at her feet turned blood-red, only to return to its clear state in the next blink. She didn’t look down again until she stepped out.

Throwing on an oversized cotton shirt and underwear, she padded silently down the hallway to the kitchen where her weapons were laid out on the small circular table. She downed a bottle of water from the fridge before settling down to disassemble her dual Mk23s. Durable and highly accurate with its polygonal barrel design, it was her weapon of choice for mid to close range. The .45 ACP round had considerable stopping power _ and _ was subsonic. Damn near perfect with a suppressor. She laid the magazine, slide, recoil rod, barrel, and frame out and cleaned each part meticulously.

It was familiar work; comfortable work. She moved on autopilot. 

Then her mind wandered to _ him _ . It often did in idle moments, much to her dismay. In fact, she found her thoughts consumed by him every day for the past week. After the stint at the casino, she expected him to show up at her apartment with a vengeance, but it’d been oddly, uncomfortably silent on his end. He couldn't _ still _ be recovering. Was he plotting? Or did he simply stop caring? She hadn’t heard from Tsunade or the Senju Agent either. Not that she expected to hear from the latter. No news was supposed to be good news, right?

Lost in her thoughts, Sakura didn’t even realize that her hands had stopped moving until a sense of unease pricked at the back of her neck. A vague, faint noise came from the direction of the balcony. Slowly setting down her tools, she picked up a tactical knife and made her way down the corridor quietly, coming to a stop in front of the drawn curtains that obstructed her view of the other side.

The sliding door had a special locking mechanism that she installed herself, as well as fortified bulletproof glass—level 3. The kind of glass you would find in banks and government buildings. It was effective against three shots from the usual firearms that anyone hunting her would be carrying. Three shots were enough to give her a warning and buy her time if she didn’t already have a weapon on her. She always had a weapon though, if not a gun than a blade. She switched the knife to her dominant hand, listening for any atypical sounds, but there was nothing unusual; just the muted hum of the city streets. Reaching for the beige taffeta curtain, she pulled it aside and peeked outside.

Her pulse spiked.

Instead of the familiar sight of towering skyscrapers stretching above her and illuminated canals in between, she saw a navy pinstripe double-breasted suit jacket with a single button fastened. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her tactical knife as her gaze slowly drifted up, heart pounding in her ribcage. Specks of blood on the white collar of his dress shirt, Adam’s apple visible just above the half-windsor knot, sharp angular jawline, crimson predatory eyes unblinking.

Madara Uchiha stared down at her from the other side of the balcony door, eerily still, his shadowed face expressionless. Empty. 

A tendril of fear slithered up her spine.

His mouth moved. _ Open. _

Sakura shook her head and his arm moved, drawing her attention down to the glint of gunmetal. He pointed his gun at the locking mechanism that suddenly didn’t give her the slightest sense of safety. She could practically hear his thoughts: _ Either you open this door for me, or I open it myself. _

She was certain it was impossible to stop him when his mind was set on something, and right now he was set on getting in. She could either make a dash for a gun to put her on more equal grounds or she could take him on with her knife. Close quarter combat against Madara Uchiha sounded like a terrible idea.

The upgrades to the glass and lock would buy her five seconds _ at most _. Madara was a force of nature, a promise of destruction. Everything yielded to him, and she was unlucky enough to be at the center of his attention. Unlucky enough to be the obsession of the most terrifying bastard in the underworld of crime.

Sakura spun on her heels and bolted down the hallway to the sound of the suppressed staccato of bullets lodging into the center layer of polycarbonate. A thunderous slam, then another. She glanced over her shoulder as his foot connected with the weakened balcony door one last time, taking down the frame. A gust of wind blew in. The billowing curtains partially obscured his imposing form.

Madara stepped inside as she made a sharp turn into her bedroom. The sound of his footfalls echoed through the apartment as he strolled idly down the hallway. She replaced the clip of her Mk23 with a full one and pulled the slide back, loading a bullet into the chamber just as the door slammed open. Leveling the gun, she pulled the trigger as soon as he appeared. He sidestepped—not a reactionary move, but a predictive—and closed the distance between them lightning fast, body checking her with his massive frame. She hit the ground so hard that her bones rattled and her vision blurred.

“I’ve been too soft, too lenient with you.” He straddled her and wrapped his hand around her throat, gradually applying pressure while she was still lightheaded from the impact. “How should I punish you?” he murmured with a tilt of his head, regarding her with cold scrutiny.

Sakura discreetly searched the ground with her hand, seeking the dropped gun or knife—_anything _to use against him. Her fingers found the hilt of her blade just as the pressure around her neck cut the air from her lungs. She swiftly brought the knife up in an inward arc, catching him in the side between the eighth and ninth rib before he grabbed her hand.

He made a sound of disapproval and squeezed her hand so tightly that she dropped the knife. While she was weaponless and straining to breathe, he made quick work of slipping off his tie with one hand and binding her wrists over her head. Satisfied, he released her throat and picked up her fallen knife, examining it. Something lit up in his eyes, an insidious madness that made goosebumps erupt on her body. 

“That’s a _ fantastic _ idea, _ liebling, _ but this will be too unsightly on your body.” Madara slammed the blade down so that it was embedded between the floorboards. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a much smaller knife; the width half an inch wide, double bevel leading to a fine point. 

“Look I know you’re upset, but I knew you were wearing a bulletproof vest that night. I felt it. If I wanted to kill you I would’ve gone for your head,” Sakura tried reasoning on shallow breaths, stars lingering in her vision. A point blank .45 to the gut, even wearing a bulletproof vest, was more than enough to bring someone to their knees. The pain was similar to getting hit by a sledge hammer; hard enough to crack a rib. She needed to buy time so the target could be secured, and that was exactly what she did.

“You think I’m upset because you shot me?” His laugh was abrupt, startling her. “It wasn’t the first time you shot me and I don’t expect it to be the last.”

“Then for taking Kakuzu.” She struggled under the weight of his body with renewed vigor, sensing his descent into madness. “For denying you the kill.”

“No.”

She cursed, glaring at him. “Then _ what _?”

His voice dropped, taking a lethal edge. “You flirted with my brother, left with another man; a government dog—”

“What?!” Sakura exclaimed, cutting him off, “When did I ever flirt with your brother?”

Then realization dawned on her.

She slammed Izuna’s face into the elevator wall and Madara’s sick, twisted mind interpreted that as flirting. He wasn’t here because she tricked him and shot him. He wasn’t here because she took Kakuzu from right under his nose. He was here because he was jealous. The illogical, unreasonable, psychopathic bastard was here because he was _ jealous _. “Oh my god you’re delusional,” she groaned.

“Perhaps you need a permanent reminder.”

“Of...what?” she asked slowly.

Madara lifted his knife. “Of who you belong to.”

Panicked, Sakura bucked and twisted her body trying to dislodge him, but it was a futile attempt with 200lbs of pure muscles anchoring her in place.

“In a fight, a regular person’s heart rate can spike upwards 170 beats per minute. Their sympathetic nervous system shuts down unnecessary bodily functions; movement is impaired, their ability to perform complex motor skills is significantly reduced.” He placed his hand over her bare chest. Her nipples hardened at the contact. “For adept contract killers who are accustomed to the intensity of high stress and high danger environments, they’re able to stabilize their heart rate around 130 beats per minute; the equivalent of going for a jog.” 

Her heartbeat _ was _elevated, even more so under his heavy hand.

“Do you know what my heart rate is during combat?” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Resting. 50 beats per minute, give or take. The same rate as when I’m eating or showering, interrogating a target or taking a life. I don’t feel uncertainty or hesitation when I pull the trigger. There’s no remorse or guilt. The only thing I feel is the recoil of the gun.”

It was no surprise to her; Madara thrived in violence, in chaos, but his next action did surprise her. He grabbed her hand and held it over his own chest. She tried to pull back in her confusion, but he held her hand in place. Then she felt it. His rhythmic heartbeat, beating _ fast _, in tandem with her own.

“Why do I feel like this with you?” his gravelly voice was almost pained, in a way she had never heard before. Madara’s entire state of being was godless hubris; always confident and arrogant. But now he sounded lost.

Her lips parted but she was stunned, at a loss for words. 

“Why do you occupy my every thought? Why do I feel the urge to tuck you between my lungs, right next to my heart, where you’ll be mine forever? Why do you make me feel alive?” He sliced her shirt open, revealing all her scars. She squeezed her eyes shut as his warm hand ran across the scar tissues. “You’re so beautiful. I know you hate these, but I’ll give you one to love.” 

Sakura’s heart gave an odd little lurch.

Madara’s fingers ran up her ribcage, ghosting over the swell of her breast, then they disappeared. She heard the sound of a lighter strike once. When she opened her eyes, he was running the blade of his knife through the flame of the lighter to clean it. She watched, transfixed, as the concentrated fire danced on steel.

She didn’t fight as he brought the blade to her skin; a barest contact of the sharp point, didn’t utter a single word as he slowly sunk the tip in and dragged downwards, splitting open her skin. Blood welled to the surface of her skin, a thin crimson rivulet sliding down between her breasts. Her entire body tensed up, not from the pain, but from the memories of a darker time. A time when she became far too intimate with pain.

This was different. This _ felt _ different. She couldn’t explain it.

She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the man before her instead. The sharp angle of his clenched jaw, his furrowed brows, the shadows under his eyes—she wondered what demons haunted him. What made him the monster he was now? She couldn’t understand him at all. He was sadistic, violent, volatile, but there were moments where he was affectionate, in his own insane way, softer, showing hints of perplexing tenderness. She wanted to strangle him. She wanted to kiss him.

He was infecting her with his madness.

Hand steady, he cut into her flesh with a surgeon's precision. She counted down each careful stroke, the tension easing from her muscles as his name began to form on her skin. There was no fear, no anxiety, just a calming stillness inside her.

When he finished, he sat back and looked at her with something strangely akin to reverence. He ran his fingers over the fresh wound and she winced at the stinging sensation. “Perfect,” he murmured, dropping his head to kiss the bloody letters engraved on her chest, right over her beating heart. In one movement, he cut through the tie that bound her wrists. “Your turn.” He spun the knife and offered her the handle, blade in the palm of his hand.

“Your turn?” she echoed, rising to her elbows and taking the knife.

“To carve your name into my skin,” he answered while removing his suit jacket and unbuttoning his white oxford, revealing a broad chest and defined muscles.

She internally winced at the sight of the large black and blue bruise that covered the expanse of his abdomen, much larger than the size of the .45 bullet she shot him with. The bullet proof vest did its job, spreading the kinetic energy of the bullet outwards from the area of impact. That wasn’t the only sign of her on his body, he also had the bullet and a knife scar from her—the only blemishes that marked his powerful body.

She weighed the blade in a contemplative hand and muttered, “You’re crazy.” It felt like stating the obvious, but he still managed to surprise her every time.

“Only for you, _ liebling. _Only for you.” 

Sakura wondered if she was the tether to his sanity or the very thing that unraveled it. Conflicting emotions warred inside her. “I’m sick of your games.”

Madara’s fingers wrapped around her jaw and forced her head back to him. “This isn’t a game. Do it.” His voice rang with authority. He switched their positions, settling her on his lap so that she was straddling him, his erection long and thick beneath her. “Mark me as yours.”

She shuddered and her response came out hesitant; unconvincing. “No.” Heat pooled at her core, her traitorous body eager for his sadistic brand of pleasure. 

She heard the sound of his zipper, the shuffle of fabric, then his fingers pulled her panties to the side and he rubbed his swollen tip between her labia, spreading his precum from her clenching hole to her clit. Back and forth he teased her swollen folds until he stopped at her entrance. Her breath hitched as his grip tightened on her hips, forcing her down on his thick cock, inch by throbbing inch.

“Your cunt is going to be the death of me,” he grunted halfway inside her. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder, leaving tiny crescents as she struggled to accommodate the painful stretch of his girth.

A breathy moan escaped her throat when he finally bottomed out, his tip firmly seated against her cervix. She felt so full, so overwhelmed.

“So fucking tight for me. I missed your needy little cunt,” Madara whispered in her ear.

“I don’t miss you at all,” Sakura lied. She tentatively rocked her hips and pleasure spiked through her, but his bruising hold at her hips stopped her movement. 

“Not until you do it” He seized her knife hand in an iron grip and readjusted the blade, then forced her hand to his chest. 

“Fuck you, bastard,” she hissed, but her words lacked its usual venom.

He smirked. “Ah, there’s my little spitfire.”

She used all her strength to pull her arm back, her free hand pushing against his shoulder as leverage, but he easily overpowered her. She watched as the knife slowly sunk into his skin, slightly to the left of his sternum. Right over his heart. For a split second, she imagined plunging the knife in all the way. How easily flesh yielded to cold steel.

Madara watched her with half-lidded eyes; the look of a lazy predator. She suspected that he knew exactly what just crossed her mind, but simply did not care. In fact, he even forced her hand to sink the knife deeper, challenging her while his cock throbbed deep inside her. 

“Fine!” Sakura snarled, tearing her hand out of his grasp. She poised the knifepoint next to the S and carved the A before he could force her to. It felt utterly depraved; her carving her name out on his chest while his cock was buried deep inside her, the musky smell of their arousal combined with the metallic smell of blood that filled her heightened senses.

The rest of the letters came in quick succession, her cuts angry and deep. When she finished the final letter, the knife clattered to the floor. 

Madara crushed her into his chest in a possessive embrace and she rolled her hips, grinding her sensitive clit against the base of his shaft, seeking the pleasure she was denied. Her breathing grew ragged as the desperation built. He didn’t let her ride him, only allowed her to gyrate her hips in small constricted movements. Frustrated, she squeezed her inner muscles, earning a growl from him, and clenched her core again and again until he snapped.

Madara pounded up into her, forcing her up and down his cock, biceps bulging from the sheer force. He had full control, moving her body to his liking even though she was on top. Broken moans fell from her lips as he fucked her violently, battering against her cervix with every deep, punishing thrust. 

Searing white-hot fire shot through her nerves as he pushed her over the edge. He followed on the heel of her orgasm, his cock swelling impossibly larger inside her, stretching her even further as he filled her to the brim with his hot cum. Her walls spasmed around his pulsing member, milking him of every drop of his seed until it overflowed and leaked out between their joined flesh.

Sakura shuddered one last time before her body went limp.

Madara kept himself buried in her wet warmth, his rigid cock still twitching inside her as he held her jaw, tilting her head up. “You belong to me, and I belong to you.” Their mouths connected and she could taste her residual blood on his lips. His tongue delved deeper into her mouth, kissing her as though they were on their last dying breaths. When he pulled back, his crimson orbs darkened. “Our contract is paid in blood. Written in flesh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this started way back in january as a short drabble that only consisted of madara carving his name into sakura’s skin and now it’s the longest chapter i’ve ever written *cries*
> 
> *edit 6/3: after much deliberation, i decided to end this fic here. what started as a self-indulgent one-shot grew a lot thanks to all of your encouragement and feedback. i really love the darker, twisted dynamic of madara and sakura and i didn't expect others to enjoy it as well. thank you for reading!
> 
> while i'm content with leaving this open ended, for those who want a sense of closure:
> 
> *cues [so happy together](https://youtu.be/Q6VPbu_M4-Y)*
> 
> madara tracks down orochimaru's location and gives the intel to sakura (which was supposed to be her actual birthday gift). sakura finally gets her revenge but is left feeling hollow, like she no longer has a purpose in life. with tsunade's encouragement, she leaves behind her life as an assassin and moves to a remote location where she lives a quiet life on the cliffside. madara knows exactly where she is and *for once*, he tries to respect her space but spirals deeper into madness without her
> 
> one day madara disappears. izuna inherits the uchiha syndicate, but the underworld of crime waits with bated breath for the reaper's return


	5. First Date (extra)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no intentions of returning to this any time soon, but @[olliya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliya)'s birthday came up so I wanted to write something for her since she's the biggest champion of this story. Sorry this is so late!! I have the attention span of a squirrel and honestly I just forgot how to write MadaSaku ( ╥﹏╥ )

V: FIRST DATE

♫【 [h a p p y t o g e t h e r](https://youtu.be/Q6VPbu_M4-Y) 】♫

— X —

“Ketamine...xylazine hydrochloride,” Sakura recited under her breath, ignoring the weight of her friend’s unwavering stare.

Ino’s blonde brows drew together. “Hydro what?” She didn’t have a clue what Sakura was so absorbed in reading. For the past ten minutes, she barely even acknowledged her presence. “Hellooo?” Ino rounded the table and waved a hand in front of Sakura’s concentrated face to break her line of sight.

Sakura’s viridian green eyes slowly traveled up from Ino’s palm to meet her narrowed gaze. “Yes?”

“Did you kill him?” Ino asked, retracting her hand to cross her arms.

“Who?”

Ino’s voice dropped to a whisper as her eyes darted from window to window. “You know who.”

Sakura’s apartment had far too many large french windows for someone in her line of work—reinforced bulletproof glass or not—but she had always preferred plenty of natural light, especially when the sun was setting. Soft hues of ochre and vermillion wafted through the glass panels, giving the room a warm but melancholic glow. She never settled in one place for long, so she didn’t have a place that felt like home. Just walls and roofs with no memories or sentiments attached to them.

“I kill for a living. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Ino gave the scabbing, soon-to-be scar on Sakura’s chest a pointed look.

Sakura audibly exhaled, wishing that she’d bother to throw a sweater over her tank top before Ino came. She wasn’t in the mood to explain why she had the Uchiha bastard’s name crudely carved into her skin. “You know you can say his name, right?”

Ino grimaced. “Yeah, but I don’t want to risk summoning him somehow.”

“He’s a psychopath, not a demon you can summon by name,” Sakura said with a roll of her eyes.

“Sacrifice a gallon of blood and repeat his name three times. I bet he’ll appear like the boogeyman,” Ino muttered half seriously, keeping an eye on the windows.

“Oh he’s much, much worse,” Sakura grumbled, not bothering to inform her that Madara preferred to break in from the balcony instead of the windows, or that it probably would require much more than a single dead body (10 gal of blood) to stir his interest. No need to set her friend on edge even more. She turned her attention back to her laptop, picking up where she left off.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” Ino pursed her lips, taking a seat beside Sakura. Her next words were hushed. “Probably not the best idea considering who he is and the power he leverages, huh?”

“I’ve made several attempts on his life,” Sakura sighed, absentmindedly jotting notes down. _ American black bear. 120 mg, 40 mg, 20 mg. Intramuscular injection_. _ Excessive dosage lethal_.

Ino’s expression melted into concern. “Sakura, are you okay?”

“Yes. I am,” she answered truthfully. There was an unsettling realization that it didn’t bother her as much as it should’ve. Maybe it was because the intent behind the action was different. Maybe it was because she wasn’t the same person she was seven years ago, hopeless and powerless. Maybe it was because Madara was the one that wielded the knife. Maybe she was losing her mind. “You know I can handle myself. I’d be swimming with the fish I couldn’t.”

“You’re constantly at each other’s throats, quite literally with your life on the line, yet you’re still fine and dandy. I don’t understand.”

Sakura twirled her pen between her fingers. How could she even begin to explain something that she didn’t understand herself? She was just inexplicably drawn to him. They had a complex relationship that was grounded in base instincts rather than logic. Nothing really made sense. Not where Madara was concerned, considering the fact that he was actually insane. “We’re enemies...”

Ino gave her a dubious look.

“...With benefits?” Sakura finished.

Ino gasped, hand flying to her mouth. “You’re sleeping with him? You’re crazy!”

Sakura couldn’t argue with that. “I’m starting to question my own sanity as well.”

“But...how do you _ feel _ about him?”

“I hate him,” she said automatically, then added, “Most of the time. Other times I tolerate him.”

Ino frowned. “Wouldn’t your life be vastly better if he was gone?”

Sakura contemplated it. Sure he was the bane of her existence, but somewhere along the way he became a permanent fixture. There were so many things uncertain in life, but Madara felt like a constant. She found a strange comfort knowing that he was always keeping track of her, always watching her. No, her life wouldn’t be vastly better if he was gone.

But she said nothing.

“Just let me know if I can do anything. _ Anything_.”

Sakura nodded, but she knew she’d never put her best friend’s life in harm’s way. Pushing the thought away, her hand resumed moving across the notepad in a sprawling cursive.

Ino studied her face for a moment longer before glancing down at the paper. “Immobilizing bears?” She squinted, trying to make out the hastily scrawled letters. “Mountain lions?”

Sakura propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand, grateful for the change of subject. “Xylazine-ketamine and medetomidine-ketamine are unreliable. A frequency of sudden recoveries have been documented for black bears.” She gestured to a photo nestled between dense text; a vicious-looking bear standing on its hind legs. “Zolazepam and tiletamine seem to produce better results, but the volume requirements are high and it often results in prolonged recoveries. That might be beneficial, but it’s difficult to determine the proper dosage since the average weight range is so wide.”

“Um, when did you pick up a new hobby?” Ino asked in bewilderment, not following along.

Sakura scrolled past the photo of the bear, stopping four pages later on a mountain lion crouched over its bloody prey. She tilted her head to the side. “Do you know how much a fully grown mountain lion typically weighs?”

“200 lbs?” Ino guessed, growing increasingly perplexed.

Sakura dipped her chin. “Upwards. That’s in the ballpark of our target’s weight.” She clicked her pen and rose. “I need to buy a tranquilizer rifle. Or I could alter a certain sniper rifle…I need something with good distance and accuracy.” 

As she made her way to the closet, Ino read the header on the page. _ Immobilizing wild mountain lions (Felis concolor) with ketamine hydrochloride and xylazine hydrochloride. _A lock clicked and Sakura opened the closet doors. Ino spotted something long and pink inside. “Are you going hunting? Is it even open season?”

“Hunting season is year-round for me.”

— X —

The last time Izumi saw Madara, she had told him that her field of study wasn’t in relationship counseling. Yet she sat before him once again, feeling out of her element—despite being in her own office this time—and offering advice she wasn’t qualified to give. It couldn’t be helped. No one said no to Madara Uchiha.

“We’re together,” Madara confirmed, crossing his ankle over his knee and leaning back into the leather seat.

His body language suggested confidence and dominance, two characteristics she would certainly associate with him. But while his mannerism seemed relaxed, there was something disarming about his faint smile. Something that made her otherwise spacious office feel too small for the two of them.

Izumi laced her fingers on top of her desk and gathered her nerves. “I’m glad to hear you two were able to work it out. Hopefully without the guns,” she quipped, recalling their last conversation. She scanned his body for any sign of grievous injury, but if there was, it was unlikely to be visible as his suit would’ve covered it. His movement didn’t seem to be restricted.

Madara arched a single brow. “I showed up at her apartment and we had a _ talk _. I’m quite certain that she loves me.”

Surprise colored Izumi’s face. “Quite certain?”

His smile widened, like a predator baring teeth. “I gave her the opportunity to plunge a knife into my chest. Encouraged it, even. She did not.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “Though she did nick me between the ribs. Foreplay,” he added thoughtfully.

Izumi stared at him for a long moment, lost for words. “That—I—” She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, struggling to comprehend the violent nature of their relationship. It was undeniably an unhealthy relationship. “Madara, her choice not to kill you isn’t exactly a declaration of love.” She couldn’t believe those words came out of her mouth.

“It is,” he said simply, as though it was an absolute fact.

And she was inclined to agree, despite her better judgement. No matter how cultured and urbane he sounded, his voice always held a lethal edge, just beneath the surface. The simplest words strung together sounded like a threat coming from him. She suspected he could casually talk himself out of a double homicide charge if he wanted to. It was his natural disposition; a thinly veiled potential for brutality.

“Okay,” she acquiesced, but the uncertainty was apparent in her tone.

He stared at her with an unreadable expression until she grew uncomfortable. Direct eye contact was normal, but he had a tendency to prolong it unnaturally to the point where it came off as aggressive, and quite frankly, creepy. She looked away to the hydroponic pendulum vases on her desk that held sage and lavender, then at the photo of her and Itachi together on a picnic.

Several awkward heartbeats passed in silence until a knock startled her. Her gaze swung from the door to Madara. He nodded. “Come in,” she called.

Her assistant peeked his blonde head in, adjusting his round glasses nervously. “Your one o’clock appointment is here.”

Izumi glanced at her Wellington watch and winced. “Reschedule Mr. Jugo please. And extend my apologies.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Madara cut in with a wave of his hand. “He can wait.”

“Y-yes sir,” her assistant stuttered. The door closed a second later without her confirmation. Izumi didn’t fault him. Madara had a commanding, intimidating presence. Itachi did as well, to less of an extent, and she liked to _ think _that she developed somewhat of a resistance to it from the prolonged exposure to him. It seemed to be a bloodline trait in their family. 

She rubbed her temples while mentally going over the last five minutes of their conversation, searching for something she could offer counsel on. A vein pulsed wildly under the delicate skin. “You should take her out!”

Madara’s demeanor changed in an instant. His expression darkened, the lines underneath his eyes seemingly more prominent. He leaned forward and stared her down through cold, narrowed eyes. “Elaborate, before I snap your neck.”

Air evaporated from Izumi’s lungs. Her heart beat wildly in her chest; fear and confusion made her stomach knot painfully. The casual way he said that chilled her to the very marrow of her bones, and she knew it wasn’t just an idle threat. She picked up a pen to steady her trembling hands, but she couldn’t hide the pallor of her face.

“Her apartment seems to be a focal point in your relationship, from the information you’ve disclosed. She might appreciate a change in scenery. Whether it’s a romantic candlelit dinner or maybe a special day trip, a different environment can keep your relationship from falling stagnant,” she spoke carefully, trying to regulate her breathing while feeling like she was navigating a field full of landmines.

“Ah.” He sat back, smiling briefly in wry humor. “You meant take her out _ on a date_.”

“Yes? What else would I mean?”

“To eliminate her.”

Izumi released a long breath, holding her head in her hands. The adrenaline was fizzling out now that she realized it was all a misunderstanding. “Madara...I’m unfamiliar with your lingo. You can rest assured that I would never give you professional advice to _ eliminate _ someone. That seems to be your area of expertise, not mine. I’m merely suggesting that you take her out for a first date now that you two are officially dating.”

A first date. Madara liked the idea, but the previous options weren't particularly appealing to him. Not without adjustments. A little danger and a lot of blood, perhaps. “I have something in mind.” Something much more exciting and useful.

She blinked, still wary. “Oh?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said, pulling out his phone from his suit jacket’s inner pocket.

She waited for him to explain further, but he didn’t. “Whatever you have planned, please consider excluding guns and knives. Weapons in general.” 

“Anything can be a weapon if you wield it properly.” He finished typing and raised his tie where a slim gold tie bar was attached. “This is a weapon.” He pointed at the ballpoint pen in her hand. “That’s a weapon too. We’re both armed.”

“Alright.” Izumi gave up, setting down her pen. There was no hope for any semblance of normalcy.

Madara’s phone buzzed. “The payment has been transferred to your account.”

“Wait—payment?”

“I also have something for Itachi.” Madara said, rising to his full, towering height. He fastened the top button of his crisp black suit. “It’s in the car. Come.”

She had no choice but to follow, making an attempt to avoid everyone’s stare as they made their way through the lobby. Much to her surprise, Mr. Jugo was still there. She shot him an apologetic look and mouthed, _ I’ll be right with you_, before stepping outside.

Madara drove a sleek white sports car with black rims. She wasn’t familiar with sports cars, but it looked fast with its low ground clearance. The color threw her off; she expected something dark. Black to match his humor and personality. He pressed a button on his key fob and the trunk opened, revealing bleach, rubbing alcohol, rope, handcuffs, ankle restraints, tie down traps, and a small black suitcase. 

Her eyes widened. “I see you’re familiar with aisle 15 of Home Depot,” she laughed nervously. Bleach and rubbing alcohol together produced chloroform, a dangerous chemical compound that could knock someone out in seconds. She didn’t need to guess what the rest of the items were for.

He pulled out the suitcase and handed it to her. “I purchase from a private supplier.” Closing the trunk, he rounded the Ferrari and opened the door. “See you in two weeks.” 

With a smooth hum of the powerful engines, he was gone. 

Izumi stood frozen on the sidewalk, mouth agape. “Two weeks?” With Madara as a client, she was going to die early. Pulling out her phone, she called Itachi to move forward their wedding date. Who knows if she’d even make it until then.

Above her, two ravens took to the sky; ebony wings flapping in tandem.

— X —

Sakura stepped into the dark room and closed the heavy steel door behind her. A single lightbulb swayed above her captive, casting insidious, moving shadows on the white brick walls. There was nothing else in the room except for a metal chair that was bolted to the ground, and restrained to the chair, with ropes criss-crossing his bare arms, chest, wrists, and ankles so tightly that bruises were already developing, was Madara Uchiha himself.

She was so accustomed to seeing him impeccably dressed in expensive tailored suits, and always in absolute control—even when he was fucking her—that the sight before her felt surreal. It took six days to plan and prepare. Three thousand dollars. One phone call. And a stroke of luck.

She scanned his bound yet still imposing form, from his broad shoulders to his toned, powerful muscles. He didn’t need a weapon to be terrifying. He could be stripped down in a room with the world’s most elite special forces and still be the most dangerous person there. He might have been a decade older than her, but his deadly precision, combat skills, and even his raw strength hadn’t diminished the slightest. Madara was a goddamn monster, and she knew he’d still be in peak condition in another decade.

Would they still be playing this game then?

As she moved closer, her attention drew to the inflamed wound over his pectoral muscle. It seemed to be faring worse than hers, she observed with a pang of satisfaction. The last A looked particularly nasty.

Madara lifted his head, fully conscious, and swept over her body. “You look good in black—” An appreciative hum. “—But you look better at my mercy.”

“You’re alive,” Sakura remarked, feeling vaguely disappointed. There was a moderate chance of lethality, and she was in a bloodthirsty mood when she prepared the tranquilizer.

The corner of his lips curled up. “Your tone suggests you were hoping otherwise.” There was no fear, not even the slightest modicum of concern on his face. Just a patronizing smirk. A look of pure arrogance. 

She wondered if he was even capable of feeling fear. The body’s instinctual reaction to danger was either a fight or flight response. In Madara’s case, fighting was his _ only _ reaction. But there was no tension in his body, no straining muscles to indicate that he was pushing against his restraints. He was completely at ease, and that infuriated her. Her fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her palm, leaving little indents. “I guess I should’ve increased the dose of ketamine. Another 50mg should do the job,” she said tonelessly.

The problem was, she had already increased the dosage that was enough to take out a 200 lbs mountain lion. The bastard just burned through it quickly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Madara drawled. “Unless you’re into necrophilia.”

“Not quite. But I do enjoy fantasizing about killing you,” she shot back.

His voice dropped to sultry murmur, sounding utterly dark and depraved. “How do you kill me? Do you shoot me between my eyes when you’re on my lap? Do you slide your knife across my neck while my cock is buried inside you? You could probably still get off for a couple hours. Even in death I’d be hard for your sweet little cunt. In fact, I can’t think of a better way to go—as long as you come with me.” His manic crimson eyes lit up, excited by the very thought.

“You’re sick,” Sakura sneered. Her eyes flickered south and sure enough, the outline of his hardening member was visible underneath his black boxer briefs. 

“You love me.” Madara deadpanned.

“W-what?!” The absurdity of the sudden statement caught her off guard.

“I had something else planned for our first date but you beat me to it. We’ll save the interactive torture and interrogation demonstration for our next date.”

“First date? Next date? What the hell are you talking about?” 

Madara’s brows furrowed, looking genuinely confused. “Should I pretend like this isn’t a date? I can attempt to play the role of a captive if you’d like.” He was willing to indulge her for the time being. 

“We’re not fucking roleplaying!” Sakura snapped, seeing red. 

He rolled his neck and tested the bonds, muscles flexing. They were decent. “Before we start, tighten the rope around my right ankle. I can still feel the extremities of my foot, which means I can get out and kill you. Also—”

Before he could offer any more tips, Sakura lunged with the intent to kill.

— X —

Madara whistled a slow tune as he strolled to the end of the empty port, gait slightly off-centered. It was a tune that he’d been whistling frequently. Izuna and Itachi fell into step behind him, each carrying a canister of gasoline. Neither of them were willing to inquire about his visible bruises.

Waves crashed against the moored boat that he had yet to name. Maybe he’d let Sakura name it. Or maybe he’d name it Sakura. Historically, war vessels were named after women. He dumped the dead body on his shoulder on top of a small pile next to the edge of the dock. “You’ve removed their teeth?”

“And fingertips,” Itachi answered while pouring gasoline over the bodies. Identification would be near impossible once they were done. That is, if the bodies were even recovered. They were more likely to sink into the deep end of the sea and decompose.

“Good.” Madara lit up a Treasurer Luxury Black and brought it to his lips, taking a long drag. 

“You think fish like charred meat?” Izuna asked no one in particular and was met with silence. “They should be used to it by now,” Izuna wryly said to himself. He set down the empty canister before taking several steps back to stand beside Itachi.

Madara inhaled once more and then flicked his cigarette into the pile of bodies. It immediately set ablaze, hungry flames engulfing clothes, skin, and hair. Black smoke billowed up into the endless night sky; a veil of darkness bereft of stars. He closed his eyes, continuing to whistle as a kaleidoscope of orange and yellow danced behind his eyelids. The song played in a loop in his head.

_ Imagine me and you, I do. _

_ I think about you day and night, it's only right. _

_ To think about the girl you love and hold her tight. _

_ So happy together. _

_ So happy together. _

_ So happy together. _

_ So happy. _

“He’s been in high spirits lately,” Izuna muttered, staring at his brother’s silhouette against the roaring fire. His nose crinkled as the smell of burning flesh assaulted him.

Itachi was unfazed. He slid his hands into his pockets, staring up at the waning moon. “That’s what love does to you.”

Izuna gave him a sidelong glance. “What’s the difference between love and obsession?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday olliya!!
> 
> the song madara is whistling is [ _so happy together but your stalker enters your house while you're sleeping_ ](https://youtu.be/Q6VPbu_M4-Y)


End file.
